


Survival Of The Worst

by TheDivineDark



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Author loves stupid nicknames, Backstory, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Flashbacks, LOTS of violence, OFC is a straight-up murderer, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use, Sexy Times, Sign Language, Those of you who hate OC-centered stories turn away now, as much Negan as I can squeeze in, author is shamelessly winging it, author knows nothing about sign language, author loves writing about murderers, author regrets zip, because I love him and his foul mouth, can you tell author has just discovered the wonders of tags?, definite triggers ahead, hurray, mute character, not-so-sexy sexy times, some is fun, some is seriously not fun, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDivineDark/pseuds/TheDivineDark
Summary: If staying at the Sanctuary and kneeling for a leader she doesn't trust means that her little brother has some semblance of a future, then Queenie will do it. Hell, being surrounded by marauders and murderers might just be her preferred climate at the end of the day.





	1. I'm Not Dead

**Author's Note:**

> So...after not writing for months, turns out I have a giant writing project due if I want to graduate college. Go figure. Given that I'm more than a bit rusty I decided to put my adoration for TWD and my fascination with villains to good use and practice. So, please criticize. Rip it to shreds. Constructively.  
> Also, I hate titles with a FIERY VENGEANCE and am utterly useless at coming up with them, so I'm gonna fall back on my teenage-self's penchant for using song titles/lyrics. The fic title is a line from Otep's Apex Predator for any metalheads out there.

_I'm not dead, just floating_  
_Right between the ink of your tattoo_  
 _In the belly of the beast we turned into_

With the sounds of the snarling bodies growing louder again, I nuzzle my face into Kenny’s matted blonde curls one last time. My lower lip quivers until I clamp my teeth down on it, willing my face into a mask of composure. I don’t want to frighten him. He feels so tiny clutched against me, one little hand fisted in my jacket, the other gripping the handle of my handgun, not even able to curl all the way around it. He snuffles quietly against my throat, trembling. Scared.

_I have to do this. He has to live. I have to._

I squeeze my eyes tight shut to keep the tears in check, swallowing hard past the ache in my throat. It feels as if the remainder of my heart is shrivelling up into a knot in the pit of my chest - black and wizened and rotted through – as I gently pry his spindly arms free from me. Cupping his gaunt cheeks in my hands, I swipe his tears away, shaking my head with the least convincing smile I could possibly have dragged onto my face.

“I love you,” I tell him, watching his big brown eyes well with tears all over again. Hefting the backpack straps against his bony shoulders, he tucks the gun under one arm and signs _I love you_ so shakily that if I hadn’t seen him do it a million times before, I wouldn’t have understood.

A fresh wave of anguish almost takes my knees out from under me, but I don’t have the luxury of falling to useless bits just now. The noises are getting louder – I can hear twigs snapping under shambling feet. They’re almost here…so he has to go.

Surging forward, I press one final kiss to his forehead before pulling away completely, rising back to my full height as best I can.

“Go,” I order him, leaving no room for argument.

Kenny hesitates for a moment before turning on the heel of his shabby sneakers and dashing towards the corner of the old brick wall. With a last glance back at me, face crumpled, he disappears.

_I’ll never see him again_.

One loud sob bursts past my lips before I crush the heel of my hand against them. No. This is right. Kenny has to live. There is simply no other fucking option. I’ve killed for him. If I can die for him too…then I’ll die a damn lot happier than I ever expected to.

The first of the bodies stumbles over the remaining bricks of the old, crumbling cottage wall, jaw gaping and snapping shut as if it’s already gnawing on me. My sprained ankle throbs viciously. I smile a tiny smile, automatically ignoring the pain as I put some weight on it to turn and plant both feet on the ground. Wrapping my hand around the polished wooden shaft of my hatchet, I pull it free of the belt strapped around my hips and hold it aloft, ready. _Come at me, fuckers, come fucking get me_.

With all my strength I bring the hatchet down onto the skull of the first body, cracking through its frontal lobe with a hollow _crunch-shlick_. Cold black blood spatters my hand as I wrench it free, just in time to deliver a sideways blow to the skull of another. Both crumple bonelessly to the ground. I stumble a step back automatically. My ankle sears in protest and a hiss gusts through my clenched teeth. Another comes at me. I put it on the ground. Another. Another. A cluster of three staggers closer. My shoulder is aching like a mother but I can’t stop. I reach out and shove one of the bodies into another to buy me a few precious seconds, staggering backwards out of dodge. My eyes count six advancing on me and the crowd is only getting bigger.

I’m on autopilot now, hacking and slicing, spattered with blood and gore, frenzied with adrenaline – and barely making a dent.

I don’t have time to feel despair. One comes at me from the side, taking me by surprise, and I lean on my bad ankle without thinking. The next thing I know, my back is hitting the old concrete. The handle of my hatchet slips out of my sweat-slick hand and clatters out of reach. Before I can lunge for it, one of the bodies falls onto me, crushing the air out of me. Yellow-brown rotted teeth clack together inches from my face, bloody drool dripping thick and viscous over my cheekbone.  I manage to get a grip on its wrists and hold it just out of biting distance – but it’s heavy and my arms are shaking with the effort, and then there’s another looming over me, and-

Gunfire.

It’s real, and it’s close, and it shocks me so much I almost let the body fall onto me. With one surge of strength, I shove it up and off to my left, rolling it onto the ground just in time to catch the other ones drop like stones before I stretch for my hatchet. With one lurching swing, I bury the stained silver edge into its face before I collapse, panting so heavily I’m practically hyperventilating.

“ _Well_ _fucking_ _well_ ,” a deep voice drawls, shocking me out of my shock. I wrench upright, hatchet poised in front of me like the world’s least useful shield.

The two dozen bodies are sprawled haphazardly on the ground, brains blasted through their frontal lobes – and just beyond them are a group of armed men.

Dread coils around my lungs until I can’t breathe. I sit frozen, unable to move, eyes round with terror. Fuck. This is so fucking bad. My frantic, darting eyes count eight of them, all but one cradling large rifles. My shoulders slump weakly, the dread surpassing fear and mounting right up to defeat.

 I am so, completely, immensely, ridiculously fucked.

The man in the middle without a gun – the leader, I figure, judging by the way the others are angled around him – begins pacing forward towards me. He’s tall, muscular beneath his leather jacket, with slicked-back black hair and a baseball bat leaning casually against his wide shoulders. When he comes closer, stepping nonchalantly over the bodies littering the ground, the light of the sinking sun glints off the barbed wire twisted around the end of it.

_So fucked_.

“Looks like we’ve got a live one,” he muses, one side of his mouth curling upwards into a grin that I just can’t get a read on. He stops not two feet away from me, shifts his weight to one foot and cocks his head to the side, dark eyes crinkling with a smile that seems as sinister as it does cheerful.

“Hi there,” he inclines his head slightly, still smiling in a way that makes my fucking teeth hurt. “I’m Negan. And _you…_ ” His eyes survey me slowly, from my heavy boots up to the dark hair twisted around my neck, damp with sweat. “Look like allmerciful fucking shit.”

And, just like that, the defeat that’s kept me silent dissolves. Reality sets in. My fingers flex around the handle of my weapon, jaw set so tightly it’s pulsing. I was ready to die to save my baby brother – ready to get clawed apart by monsters and eaten alive. My narrowed eyes bore into his, a familiar fury simmering beneath my skin. I’ve been dealing with men like this all my life. A strange sense of satisfaction twitches my own lips into a sardonic mirroring smirk. There’s nothing he can do to me that I can’t cope with, no pain he can inflict on me that I can’t survive – and if he kills me, at least I’ll die with the knowledge that he never got his hands on Kenny. With that, I let the ire take the reins.

“And you look like an almerciful fucking cunt,” I grit out.

Negan reels back theatrically and his dark brows shoot up towards his widow’s peak. “Whoa-ho,” he chuckles, flashing a row of straight white teeth behind his broad smile. “Take it fucking easy, spitfire. Is that any way to speak to your savior?”

So he’s playing that card, is he? Fucking fine. I’ll scatter the fucking deck to the wind.

“Don’t fucking play with me.” Shit. In spite of the bravado keeping me from passing out from the fact that I am vastly outnumbered and literally staring a torturous future in the face, I’m shaking. My insides are knotted with nausea and my head is pounding. But I will be _damned_ if, after everything, I go down without a fight – even if the common sense huddled beneath the vindictive spite knows that I’m digging myself a deeper grave with every word. But I know men like this. There’s no pleading, no begging or mercy. If he’s going to hurt me, he’s going to do it whether I keep quiet or whether I curse him, his mother and his every belief to the depths of hell. At this point, it’s inevitable - and If I’m going down, I am sure as shit not going quietly.

Negan’s smile finally falters a little when he notes my hatchet clutched defensively in my hand, and a flicker of fear hits despite my resolve. “ _That’s_ your weapon? _That’s_ the fucking piddly-piss-poor thing you were going to use against all these undead fucks? Holy fucking fuck, _that’s it_?”

Before I can retort or just ask him to bash my fucking brains in already, his gaze slips to the side and his back straightens. Then, more quietly than before, he asks; “that yours, too?”

I follow his pointed stare to find Kenny curled around the corner of the wall.

Every square inch of my skin ices over as the last of my dangerously flippant denial melts away. My insides liquefy as Kenny, figuring the jig is up, edges the rest of the way around the corner until he’s in full view.

_No. Please, fuck, no. No no no no-_

I shudder visibly, so horrified that I can’t move, can’t speak, can barely drag breath into my lungs and choke it back out again.

Kenny begins creeping slowly towards me, eyes flickering between the man in front of me and the group waiting quietly not twenty feet behind him. I want to _scream_ at him to _run, get away_ – but what’s the point? He’s weighed down with the rucksack I slung over his shoulders and even if he wasn’t, he could never outrun a grown man.

It feels as if my brain is a dead weight inside my head, dragging me down into the dark that’s blurring the edges of my vision. My entire body is slumping uselessly and I can feel a cold sheet of sweat wax over my stark white face.

This might not be my worst nightmare but it is so damn close.

Though I wasn’t ever going to give this man the satisfaction of begging for myself, what’s my pride, my meagre self-respect – what’s _anything_ next to a chance to keep Kenny safe? Once I find the brainpower to turn my head back towards my ‘ _savior,_ ’ my eyes flutter shut and I manage to get my shit together just enough to speak.

“Don’t,” I croak pathetically, bile churning in my gut. “Please. Hurt me…don’t hurt him. Please.”

I hear several metallic clicking sounds and my eyes snap open, staring beyond Negan to his men, who have their guns raised and ready. My head whips to the side so quickly I almost keel over with vertigo. Kenny has my handgun aimed right at the figure towering in front of me, his little face creased with childish ferocity.

“Oh for the love of fucking Christ, are you all _serious_ with this shit?” I finally manage to lift my eyes towards Negan again, only to find him craning around, addressing his own men. “Are you seriously aiming guns at that little fucking child as if he _knows_ any fucking better? Stand down, for fuck sakes!”

I guess stupid, life-endangering denial must be a genetic cock-up rather than a personal one, because Kenny keeps inching his way towards me as the men exchange unsure glances, gun still held towards his target. As the rifles are lowered hesitantly, Kenny reaches me, eyes on Negan as he crouches down and huddles into my side. I can’t seem to loosen my fingers to drop my hatchet, so I carefully touch it to the top of the gun, pushing down insistently until Kenny’s shoulders droop and he lowers it. Out of options, I slip it out of his hands and lay it on the ground, waving my white flag for all to see.

“Now,” Negan says. “First off - kid, next time, save yourself an extra bullet and aim it at my head, okay? Second – let me make something abso-fucking-lutely crystal: I’m not gonna hurt you unless you try and fuck me up first. Good? Good.” That out-of-place smile returns to his face, just as unnerving as before. “Now, assuming you don’t want you and tiny Rambo over here to starve to death while you’re annihilating roamers with that bitty little axe of yours, how about you get your shit together and follow me?”

\---

Given that I couldn’t have gotten up and run away even if I thought it was a legitimate option, I limped hand-in-hand with Kenny to a couple of trucks parked at the edge of the forest. It would have been a twenty minute walk at best, but with my slow ass holding up the show, we made it there in an underwhelming half hour. Negan spent this entire time running his mouth, and I got some information for my troubles.

Turns out the herd that we’d run into had broken off from an even bigger one that they were taking care of. Normally they wouldn’t have bothered, but it was heading directly towards their compound – an inconvenience, apparently, that they did not need. While tracking the stragglers that I’d wrenched my ankle trying to escape, two of the men had spotted us and reported back to Negan. By the time he got word back to them to move ass and not let us fucking _die_ , we’d vanished. To my apparent fortune (whether it was good or bad fortune is still up for debate), they managed to track us down again just in time to “blast the fuckedy fuck” out of the bodies about to make a meal out of me.

Goodie.

Kenny is a lot of things, but, for a five year old, he’s not a snivelling little wimp. Still, the entire bumpy ride back to the ‘Sanctuary,’ he kept his fingers laced tightly with mine, eyes round and boggling as he peered out the window of the bulky jeep. As it so happens, Negan’s ‘Sanctuary’ looks a whole lot like an old factory, all fenced off and surrounded by slavering bodies.

“Defensive strategy,” Negan explained from the driver’s seat, catching my narrowed stare in the mirror. “They quiet down when we’re not around – makes the others think there’s nothing worth eating in here.”

The Sanctuary is a small fraction more charming inside than it is out, but compared to the nightmarish dungeons I was imagining, I really can’t complain. Negan brought us directly to the infirmary when we arrived, so I didn’t see much, but I did see one thing that eased my trepidation some: people. Not like the soldiers with the guns from the forest – ordinary people. Men, women. I even glimpsed a smiling young girl on my hobble down here. I also glimpsed something that ramped up a few of my other suspicions.

As Negan guided Kenny and I through the halls, the people that saw us instantly dropped to one knee as if he was a walking god. So, sadistic rapist he may not be, but I suspect that might be the most generous thing I can say about him. If he’s so ramped up on his own ego that he’s got his people _bowing_ to him, then I guess I’ve got my read on him. I can smell his type a mile away.

He left us in the infirmary once I’d heaved myself onto one of the beds, commanding a stringy, bespectacled kid that had tailed us from the front door to get us fed once we were done here and find us a room. For tonight, we’ll be sleeping here.

The infirmary is more makeshift than anything else. The beds are all different – some timber-framed, some metal, all elevated by a few concrete blocks so they’re high like real hospital beds. The equipment is the real deal, though. They’re certainly not short on supplies, judging by the meds they offered me without a second thought. I refused it, only allowing the doctor to clean and wrap my ankle up tight.

The nurse comes over while the doctor is finishing up. She’s dark-skinned and soft-bodied, late thirties by my best guesstimate, and she’s got such a pleasant smile that my own lips twitch briefly in response. Kenny smiles properly, swinging his legs happily from the bed next to mine, fear forgotten for the moment. He perked up hugely the second he heard the word _food_.

“Hello, young man,” the nurse says cheerfully. Kenny lifts his hands and signs _hello_ in response.

“Oh!” she exclaims, sounding so pleasantly surprised that I frown. Then, she begins signing right back at him. _Welcome to the Sanctuary_.

“You sign?” I ask stupidly, as if I haven’t just seen her do it with my own bloodshot eyes. My exhaustion is catching up with me, and fast. The adrenaline and paranoia and outright terror all falls short next to an actual bed under an actual roof. In spite of my throbbing headache, the pain in my ankle and the seemingly permanent ache in my shoulders from swinging my _bitty little axe_ , I haven’t been this comfortable in months.

The nurse smiles at me. “My son is deaf,” she explains. “We’re very lucky to be here. Lacking a sense on the outside is a dangerous thing.”

I know that all too well. Keeping Kenny within my direct sights at all times was hard, but knowing that any second something could reach for him and he wouldn’t be able to scream for help…yeah, a very dangerous thing.

“Kenny’s mute,” I say. “He had an operation when he was a baby, it fucked up his vocal chords.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replies sincerely.

I grin tiredly. “Eh. He does alright, don’t you, Ken-doll?”

Kenny signs _hell yeah_ before holding out his fist. I bump it with mine, and, for the first time, I allow the relief to wash over me. I said goodbye to him today. I crushed him in my arms and thought I’d never see him again. I thought I was going to _die_.

As Kenny and the nurse have their silent conversation, her telling him that she has to check him for bites and scratches, I exhale shakily.

We need to stay here.

We’re not out of the woods in terms of safety. In spite of his friendly demeanour, I don’t trust Negan. I don’t trust the men that raised their guns on my brother. I don’t trust the fanatics that hit their knees like they were ready to suck Negan’s dick at his command as soon as he rounded the corner. Still, this is a step up. Kenny is _five_. The staggering fucked-up-ed-ness of that fact has never been light on my shoulders. I’ve kept him alive. Fine. But I want him to be more than _alive_. He’s a good kid, a good boy – but if all my efforts pay off, that boy is going to grow into a man. The kind of man he’s going to be rests with me.

Here, he can grow up. He can be around _people_ instead of brainless killing machines. He needs that. He also needs food and warmth and clothes and medicine and all that other shit. Hell, the other day I actually made myself laugh with wondering what I was going to when he grew out of his shoes. We’ve got options here, options besides killing and dying and starving. I’ve done worse things than bow to a leader.

Kenny pulls his grubby sweatshirt back into place after his look-over, but not before I catch sight of his ribs protruding under his skin. My stomach clenches. Yeah, I’ll bow alright. I’ll bow until I smash my fucking frontal lobe off the ground.

“You next,” the nurse says to me.

I guess the obedience starts now. Nodding, I slip my bloodstained jacket off my shoulders and allow her to turn my arms and peel my tank top up, prodding at me with warm fingertips. One thing I seriously don’t care for is being manhandled, but I keep resolutely still, the fucking poster-child for co-operation.

I’m tugging my top down again when Negan’s boy-manservant returns with a tray of meat and potatoes and green veg, all steaming hot and fresh. My jaw practically drops at the sight. Kenny looks like he’s ready to pounce on the kid and savage the food face-first, plate and tray and maybe hands too if the kid’s not quick enough. Fortunately, he places it on the bed next to Kenny and the rucksack before he resorts to cannibalism. Kenny dives in, blissed out.

I forgo eating in favour of eyeing up the armed soldier standing over the boy-manservant’s shoulder.

My eyes tighten suspiciously. The soldier stares back at me, arms crossed over his chest, pistol tucked into a holster on one hip, long blade sheathed on the other.

My brow perks. “So, who are you more afraid of, the woman with the busted ankle or the five year old?”

Boy-manservant blushes a little, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He nudges them up with a practiced nose-wrinkle before clearing his throat. “We, uh, we have to take your weapons.”

The expression sags right off my face. Words like _bow_ and _obedience_ sprout wings and flutter right out my ears in the instant the kid stops speaking. “You had better be fucking kidding me.”

He splutters a little, flustered, as his bodyguard unclenches long enough to tap two fingers against the side of his own gun. “Standard procedure,” he says, dark voice so stern than even Kenny manages to look up from the plate. “You got a problem, take it up with _Negan_.”

The fact that the concept of _taking it up with Negan_ is so clearly a threat is not lost on me. I glance at my weapons laid out next to me, at the name engraved into the silver of my gun, and I manage to pull my mouth into a smile that feels a lot more like a grimace.

I’m in an infirmary. That means things like scalpels. Hell, even glass. I won’t be short on ways to defend us if things go fuckways. However, there is something I’m not willing to compromise on.

“Fine,” I say lowly. “Just hold up.”

I reach for the axe, dark with dead blood, and hand it over by the steel end. Soldier-man takes it none too gently.

Holding my hands in a brief surrender gesture to let them know I’m not trying anything, I pick up the gun and click the magazine free, pop the chamber to show them it’s empty, then remove the single bullet and toss it to the soldier with a flick of my thumb. He catches it easily, rolls it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before pocketing it and holding out his hand.

“Gun,” he says flatly.

“It’s fucking empty,” I protest indignantly. “If I had any more fucking ammo I think I would have remembered out in the forest today when I almost got my fucking guts yanked out.”

“Like I said,” he grinds out. In one quick, striking move, he whips it out of my hand, and my fingers clutch around the air, pulling a phantom trigger. “Take it up with Negan.”

My entire body twitches in rage, but I’m able to keep myself rooted to the bed. I know a losing fight when I see one. Seething, I jab the _empty_ magazine into his palm corner-first when he holds his hand out for it, unable to pass up the tiny opportunity to be petty.

“I will,” I tell him, jaw rolling to the side as I watch him insert the magazine and tuck it into the back of his jeans.

“He, uh, wants to see you in the morning anyway. To explain how things work around here and…stuff,” he finishes lamely.

That sets alarm bells clanging immediately. My fingers whiten as I clench them around the edge of the mattress.

“Fine,” I repeat, hushed. I notice that the doctor and the kind nurse have slipped out of the room. As boy-manservant turns and scampers out as well, soldier-man strolls to one corner of the room and drags a small plastic chair into place, settling in.

Oh for the love of fucking _Christ_.

“The injured, _unarmed_ woman or the five year old – which one of us are you losing sleep over?”

His mouth twists upwards. “You never know. Can find some real psychos out there nowadays. Can’t be too careful.”

My lids lower over my eyes and I smile right back at my warden. “Sure can’t.”

Looks like I’m not getting any more sleep tonight than I was last night. Battling back the bout of frustration, I resign myself to staying awake, taking the plate from Kenny when he offers it to me. I sign that he should get some sleep, and he curls up under the covers of his bed without a fight.

I most certainly fucking will take it up with Negan in the morning. Until then, I content myself with eating actual nutrients for the first time in longer than I care to figure out and committing my new friend’s face to memory – not that that’ll be too challenging.

I never forget a face I want to stick my axe into.


	2. Mz. Hyde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I'm shit at updating. I'd love to give you all an actual excuse but truth be told I'm just fucking lazy. But I DID double the size of the chapter, so there's that.  
> Also, ALL THE THANKS to everyone who kudosed this thing and dropped me a comment, it's very much appreciated!

_In the daylight, I’m your sweetheart,_  
_Your goody-two-shoes prude is a work of art._  
_But you don’t know me, and soon you won’t forget,_  
_Bad as can be, yeah you know I’m not so innocent._

  
When Kenny lifts his head the next morning and a dirt-print of his face remains on the pillow, I remember just how astonishingly shit we both look. I haven’t gotten a glimpse of myself in a long while, but judging by Kenny’s grimy appearance and my adventure with the herd, I don’t even want to imagine just how bad I must look. Hygiene has been a low-hanger on my list of priorities for so many months that it almost feels silly to be embarrassed about that now. Even so, I find myself digging blood and dirt from under my nails as Kenny snuffles and twitches, blessedly conked out.

  
Soldier-man and I share a stiff silence throughout the night, which I break grudgingly to ask about where we can get cleaned up.

  
“I’ll take you to your new digs,” our warden says. “And explain it from there.”

  
Our new digs turns out to be a small room with a window that looks like it belongs in a prison cell, and very little else. I think it must have been an old storage room. The walls are a dismal yellow-ish colour, the floorboards are unpolished and dirty, and two of the walls are lined with metal countertops. There’s no kind of bed or mattress, but two sleeping bags and a small pile of blankets have been left for us, along with two new sets of clothes, toothbrushes and towels.

  
Kenny glances around doubtfully. Clearly this wasn’t what he was expecting when he was told we were getting a room. He begins looking around a little warily, like a dog being brought into a new house for the first time, practically sniffing the air. With one little hop he manages to heave himself up onto one of the countertops and stands on the tips of his toes to peer out the window.

 

Soldier-man watches our faces the whole time, gauging our reactions. I scoff internally. What, will he go scampering off to tattle to Daddy Negan the second I shut the door? “Ain’t exactly the Ritz, but…”

 

“I’ve seen worse,” I mutter, watching as Kenny twists around to sign excitedly about seeing farm animals – pigs and cows and horses – and immediately begins clamouring to go pet them.

  
“Later,” I reply, grinning at just how easy it is to distract him. “You haven’t seen yourself.”

  
Kenny mirrors the gesture and hops down from the countertop with all his five-year-old grace. Crusted dirt falls from his shoes.

  
“There are showers on every floor. You’ll find them down the end of the hall. There’s shower stuff in there. Use what you need. Negan will tell you about earning your keep once you’ve cleaned up.” He eyes me up with such a judgemental expression that I want to punch him in the throat. Someone hasn’t been out in the real world in a while. I hold onto that thought with a bit of satisfaction. “He wants to see you as soon as you’re done. Carson will be by to bring you to him.”

  
“Who?”

  
“The kid from last night.”

  
Boy-manservant. Ah.

  
“Cool.”

  
Soldier-man leaves and I rally Kenny into action, beyond ready to feel like an actual human being again. The shower room is a collection of stainless steel shower heads separated by sheets of yellow plastic for privacy. Thankfully, the place is empty when Kenny and I get in there. I scrub myself until I’m glowing pink, never in my life so happy to have lukewarm water. After helping Kenny shampoo his hair and cleaning vigorously behind his ears, we towel off and try on our new gear.

  
Kenny’s new t-shirt is a size too big for him but he doesn’t even seem to notice. I wince at the sight of the white, ruffle-collared blouse that’s been left for me before telling myself to get over it and tugging it on. It’s a little small, digging in under my armpits and stretching over my chest, but it’s clean and therefore all other bets are off.

  
After towel-drying my hair until it’s damp rather than dripping, Kenny and I make our way back to our room, only to find Carson waiting outside with more company.

  
“Damn, Ken,” I say as we approach, eyeing up this new gun-toting muscle-man. “He must really be scared of you.”

  
It’s as easy to make Carson blush as it was last night. Kenny beams delightedly, taking me seriously. I think I catch the muscle’s mouth twitch up at the corner. Huh. Guess he’s a Real Boy after all. That makes one of many.

  
“Negan wants to see you now,” Carson says, still all pink.

  
I smother a sigh. Guess it’s now or never. “Lead the way, Jeeves.”

  
Negan is waiting for us outside, behind the Sanctuary, leaning against the red-brick wall of a tool shed with one foot propped back against it. The baseball bat seems a permanent fixture in his hand. He taps the end of it against his knee absentmindedly, staring out at rows of crops with a bored expression on his face. He grins toothily when he catches sight of us, twirling the bat expertly in his hand and resting it against his shoulder.

  
“Oh, good,” he says, treating me to one of the least-subtle once-overs of my entire fucking life. It takes my every effort to keep my eyes from rolling. Clearly I don’t look like almerciful fucking shit this morning. “Carson didn’t bore you to death.”

  
“Not yet.”

  
Carson and the muscle take off at Negan’s command, leaving Kenny and I at his mercy.

  
“C’mon,” he says, gesturing towards a path between the stalks of wheat and corn. “I’ll show you two around.”

  
Negan, once again, begins talking my ear off as he leads us down the path, patiently keeping pace with me (wrapping and resting my ankle has helped, but it still hurts to put weight on it) beyond the crops to the farmyard that Kenny spotted through the window. A bunch of old wooden panels and stakes have been assembled into a makeshift riding arena, where two young teens are sat astride a pair of chestnut-brown horses, an instructor helping them wedge their feet into the stirrups. As soon as Kenny sees them, he begins clapping his hands excitedly. I can’t tamp down on a wry smile of my own. This is the most animated I’ve seen him since he blasted the cranium off his first lurcher. He yanks excitedly on my hand, jabbing his finger in their direction, big eyes bright as he watches the horses canter in a wide circle.

  
Negan grins down at him. “All the kids here learn to ride,” he says.

  
“How come?” I ask. Of all the skills kids need to learn these days, that wouldn’t have struck me as one of them.

  
“Still need to get places, don’t we?” Negan says. “Gas is hard to come by nowadays. One day in the not-too-terribly distant future, we won’t be able to find any at all. After that it’s giddy-up for all of us.”

  
“Huh,” I chuckle, amused by Kenny’s transfixed stare and grudgingly impressed by Negan’s logic. “Makes sense. Can’t breed cars, either, I guess.”

  
Negan’s wide, white smile would be disarming if I wasn’t still so suspicious of him. Medicine, showers, horseback riding; with every new grandeur, my apprehension twinges. How can one man have assimilated all of this? It’s any wonder his people literally worship the ground he walks on. Barely scraping by in this sorry shit-stain of a world is challenge enough. Prospering from it is another thing entirely. To scrape by you have to steal, fight and kill. I can’t imagine what Negan must have had to do to get _this_ far.

  
He’s not the first killer I’ve met to smile pretty.

  
Still, I keep a practiced smile pinned to my own face as he leads us by a cluster of pens containing cows suckling calves and chickens pecking at the ground, tiny yellow chicks peeping away. Kenny is enchanted. I have to tow him away by the hand so Negan can show us a courtyard. There are sunflowers sprouting from pots in between picnic benches, where people are doing things like playing cards and talking and laughing. An elderly couple are playing checkers. One woman is even painting. She’s got her two little children sat beneath the sunflowers, a gurgling and giggling baby tucked into the crossed legs of a girl barely older than toddling age, laughing and looking around even when her mom tells her to keep still.

  
They all look…happy. None of them are hungry or scared. I risk a glance up at Negan, who’s watching my reaction with an almost smug expression. He did this. He gave these people safety in a time where safety’s worth more than gold. Experience and instinct might have my defences skewed against him, but I can’t deny that this has some of my trepidation appeased. I’ve met evil men. No evil man would do that.

  
This is so surreal that I’m stunned silent for a moment. The warmth glowing in my chest ices over again as soon as the first person spots Negan and drops to their knees.

  
_Why are they doing that?_ Kenny asks, confused. He’d pulled the same quizzical face last night when we first saw it, but his curiosity had taken a back seat and been forgotten in the face of food.

  
_Later_ , I tell him, abruptly relieved that I’m the only one here who can understand him.

  
“Come on inside,” Negan says. “There’s something you’re gonna want to see.”

  
We get a look at the main floor of the factory from high up on the catwalks. Down below, workers are doing things like stitching clothes, mending furniture and carving handles for tools and weapons. Predictably, they all hit the ground as we follow Negan down the steps and through to the other side.

  
The high-pitched _ping_ of the elevator makes Kenny smile, and I try to focus on that as we step inside and Negan hits the button for the ninth floor. “Elevator’s slow as all fuck, but it still beats the stairs.”

  
“How does it still work?” I ask, watching the numbers light up each time we pass a floor.

  
“Got some big-ass generators and some smart-ass engineers,” Negan explains, that ever-present smile turning crooked.

  
The door slides open with another _ping_ and we step out. “This way,” Negan says, gesturing with his bat. I hesitate for a second before walking obediently, wary of his zeal. “You’re gonna fucking love this.”

  
At the end of the hall, he opens a set of double doors to what was once a large conference room, now transformed.

  
Kenny gapes, amazed, and I find my own jaw sagging. The beige wallpaper has been remastered with crayons and bright paint in the form of doodles and handprints and painstakingly inked names. The rare blank spaces on the wall are taken up by posters of animals and letters and numbers. There are bookshelves lined with kid’s books, two huge whiteboards, and easels knocked together from bits of wood. Little stools and desks are made in the same fashion. Sat at these desks are over a dozen children.

  
I’m so completely dumbfounded that I don’t notice that all of the kids have knelt on the ground until Negan laughs and says “at ease, soldiers,” and they begin scrambling back into place, chattering and giggling.

  
Four adults rise to their feet as well. Two of them have machetes and guns tucked into their belts. That kind of hits me over the head, and for the first time I notice the diagram drawn on the whiteboard, and just what exactly the woman at the head of the class is showing to the kids.

  
“Why the flying fuck does that teacher have a gun?” I ask, quietly and calmly.

  
“We’ve got a lot of weapons floating around this place,” Negan murmurs. “You telling me your kid never got a hand on your gun? We teach ‘em how to use them properly and safely, and never to pick one up unless they’re planning on using it.”

  
Again grudgingly, I have to admit that this is sorta smart. As the class continues, I examine the children. All of them (at second glance I count sixteen) look elementary school-age, save for two toddlers playing with painted wooden blocks and one baby in the arms of the teacher’s assistant. The rest range from around four to ten. I notice with a jolt of shock that one girl is missing the majority of her left arm.

  
Negan follows my stricken stare. “She got bit,” he explains.

  
“ _Bit_?” I hiss, horrified and…wait, _what the fuck_? “How the fuck is she-“

  
“Alive?” Negan chuckles. “Happened the day we found her and her dad. Walker took three of her fingers. Her screaming’s what helped us find her, funny enough.”

  
“Hilarious,” I mutter, eyeing up the girl, maybe a grand total of eight years old, forever deformed.

  
Negan ignores me. “Amputation can stop the infection. It had been a few minutes since the bite when we got to them, so we took most of her arm, just to be sure. Our doctor patched her up, and now her dad is one of my Saviors.”

  
That stops me yet again. My face creases as I try to mask a smile. He actually calls his people _saviors_. I shoulda fucking guessed.

  
The teacher clicks the magazine into the gun and tells the kids to take a break. Immediately, they all bounce out of their seats and chaos ensues as they do what kids do. Kenny watches the scene a little warily, glued to my side, fingers knotted tightly with mine. A little girl with Down Syndrome waves in our direction with a big, sunny grin. He waves back shyly, butting his head against my hip.

  
“So,” Negan says, definitely smug this time. “What do you think?”

  
“It’s amazing,” I admit. I scratch at the top of Kenny’s head with my fingernails, trying to soothe him. “What else do they learn?”

  
“How to read a map, basic first aid, what plants they can and can’t eat and a bunch of other shit. Regular school subjects, too.”

  
“They still learn regular school shit?” I’m scoffing before I can stop myself. “What, are they supposed to stop lurchers with the power of algebra?”

  
“World’s gotta continue somehow, fuckin’ smartass. Knowing how to fire a gun ain’t gonna be worth more than half a shit in fifty years when nobody knows fuck all but how to kill things. Think guns keep the generators running and the crops growing?”

  
“Alright, alright, fair enough.”

  
The teacher comes our way; a woman in her forties with a disarray of mousy curls and glasses perched on her wide nose. She’s wearing a flowery pink sundress that clings around her soft middle and a blue denim waistcoat with fringing on the pockets. Her friendly smile is reassuring to me, but Kenny inches even closer to me, figuring the spotlight is coming his way.

  
“Sir,” she says, bowing her head slightly. Negan nods easily.

  
“Alma,” he says amiably. “Ah! Where the fucking fuck have my manners gone? This is…” His brows rise suddenly. “Well, shit! Never did ask for your name, did I, darlin’?”

  
“Queenie.”

  
“The fuck it is! Really?”

  
I snort derisively. “You call your people fuckin’ _Saviors_ , I wouldn’t be too quick to judge, _sir_.”

  
Negan laughs heartily. “Touché, your highness.”

  
Alma is gawking at me like she’s expecting my head to roll right off my shoulders for daring to talk back to Negan. If he wasn’t so cool about it, I’d be starting to fucking worry. The way these people treat him makes me think I should start thinking before I speak. Then again, that’s easier said than done. Retorting is a reflex at this point.

  
“This is Kenny,” I announce, poking him in the back of the head in an attempt to get him looking a bit more lifelike. He’s doing amazingly well, considering. I think he’s been too busy being fascinated by everything to really reflect on all the shit he's seen now that things have calmed down. I want to keep it that way as long as possible.

  
“Hi, Kenny,” she says, all perky-teacher-voice. He signs _hi_ , and her whole face brightens. My jaw drops as she begins signing right back at him. What the shit?!

  
“You sign _too_?”

  
“Pretty badly.” Her cheeks tint a little as she smiles modestly. “Aysha is teaching me. I’m kind of a slow learner. The kids know it better than I do, and that’s just from being around her son.”

  
“Aysha?”

  
“One of our nurses. You met her last night,” Negan says.

  
“Right. She said her son was deaf.”

  
“That’s why I’m learning,” Alma says. She turns and points out a young boy of about eight or nine in a stripy orange t-shirt stained with stubborn slashes of green and blue paint. He’s got rectangular glasses taped together in the middle and little dreadlocks that just touch his shoulders.

  
Taken aback, I stand silently as she beckons him over and introduces him to Kenny. I watch with a catch in my throat as Kenny pulls away from me just slightly so he can sign properly.

  
This place is like a dream.

  
The kid, Caleb, directs Kenny’s attention to a bird cage in the corner of the room where, apparently, they keep their pet mouse Charlie. Alma watches my brow perk and her lips quirk wryly.

  
“He scurried across the factory floor one day and one of the older kids managed to catch him,” she explains. “By the time they were ready to put him outside, he’d already collected himself quite the fan club.”

  
For fuck sake, what _is_ this place? Twenty four hours ago I was worrying about not catching us any food with my less than magnificent hunting skills and running from a group of the dead, and now I’m watching Kenny sign with another kid and talking about class pets?!

  
Maybe I did get torn apart in the forest and this is the most unrealistic reality the powers that be could conjure up for me? Then again, I very much doubt they’d see fit to send me somewhere so accommodating.

  
“Are you staying here with us, Kenny?” Alma asks. Kenny worries at his lip, hesitating, before craning around to look up at me.

  
_If you want to_ , I tell him, smiling as encouragingly as I can.

  
“We should talk shop anyway,” Negan tells me.

  
Kenny hesitates again before Caleb offers to let him hold Charlie. All his apprehension jumps ship after that. He winds his arms around my waist in a quick hug, and I stoop over to drop a kiss to his curls before he scampers off, so easily acclimating that I can’t help but feel relieved.

  
“Shall we?” Negan asks, opening the doors again. It’s my turn to hesitate this time. With one last glance at Kenny’s beaming smile as he peers into the cage, I walk out.

  
My stomach clenches the instant the door shuts behind us. I pause again just outside, listening to the sounds of children shrieking and laughing and trying to remind myself that I never dreamed things would be this good for him again. Even so, having him separated from me, even by a set of wooden doors, has my heart pumping quicker and quicker.

  
“Your son is fine.” For the first time, the expression on his face is understanding rather than cocky, but I can’t manage to feel assuaged. “Really. Worse case scenario is Charlie taking a nibble on him.”

  
“Is that thing fucking sanitary?”

  
Negan shrugs, heading back towards the elevator. “Well, nobody’s come down with rabies yet, in any case.”

  
“Great,” I murmur weakly. “He’s not my son, by the way. He’s my brother.”

  
“Oh. Where are mommy and daddy?”

  
My jaw flexes automatically. “Six feet south. Figuratively.”

  
Negan takes me up to the tenth and final floor and into a large and lavish office slash living room. One half of the space, painted dark green, houses a huge polished oak desk littered with maps and papers and your general office junk. Behind the desk is a swivel chair much like a black leather throne. Opposite the desk sits a futon, which I eye with a bit of relief. All this walking’s taking a toll on my ankle. The living room half of the room has a big, soft leather sofa and a glass coffee table, facing a huge window. It’s pretty plain other than that. There’s a fancy-looking rug underneath the coffee table and a bookcase that reaches the ceiling, a few lamps and candles, and that’s it. Next to the bookcase is a door, which I assume leads to a closet or some shit until he walks towards it and leads me through.

  
And then I learn _exactly_ what kind of man Negan is.

  
Beyond the office is an even more extravagant room, all pale pink and cream, with heavy, deep purple drapes and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. From the second the door opens I’m taken aback by the heady scent of incense smouldering. In here are more glass tables, on which sit bowls of fresh fruit and jugs of water. There are several leafy plants and flowers in dainty painted pots.  The furniture is more elaborate here than in Negan’s office. There are two chaise lounges and two plushy sofas, all covered in plump, velvety cushions – and girls.

  
A pair of beautiful young women sit playing a game of chess, while another perches on the edge of the chaise lounge with a book in her lap. All three are wearing expensive-looking lingerie and nothing else.

  
It takes every ounce of my concentration to keep my expression neutral while my insides are churning so ferociously. So, my suspicions were right. Go fucking figure. The word _disappointment_ flashes across my train of thought even though I don’t really feel it. I’d just hoped… I wanted to be wrong. I wanted Negan to be a good guy. I wanted his purposeful side-eyes and the kneeling to be nothing more than a figment of my own paranoia.

  
I fucking hate being right.

  
Still, at least I know. I’m a step forward in that regard. Negan might not be all I’d hoped for but this place is beyond belief. Kenny is off playing with other kids and cuddling a fucking mouse. We took warm-ish showers this morning. We ate off a plate last night. We _need_ this place. A sense of determination straightens my slumped shoulders. Maybe this is actually a good thing. I know what I’m dealing with now, and it’s something I can work with.

  
I eye Negan as he addresses the women with a coy smirk. “Ladies,” he drawls in his rumbling, rough-velvet voice.

  
The trio all chorus some variant of greeting and then proceed to stare fucking holes in my face. It’s a genuine struggle to keep my glare in check as Negan asks where Sherry and Louise are.

  
It’s only getting worse. I thought three was bad, but there are _five_? Lovely.

  
“Sherry’s taking a bath,” one of the girls says. “Louise went down to the kitchen to bitch about the pork being dry.”

  
Oh, you have got to be fucking shitting me. Going off Negan’s eye-roll, this is actually the case. I have a brief notion of dumping a dead and bleeding rabbit into this girl’s lap and telling her to knock herself the fuck out. The girl that spoke looks like she’s thinking something similar.

  
“Let her bitch,” Negan sighs dismissively. “At least I won’t have to fucking hear about it. Oh. My fucking manners escape me again. These are Courtney, Amber and Lola. Girls, this is Queenie.” He pauses, mouth twitching. “…Apparently.”

  
Despite knowing the game I’ve found myself playing, I cut my eyes sharply to Negan to show him I am unimpressed. He only chuckles at my expression. The three women throw some _hi_ ’s and _nice to meet you_ ’s my way.

  
“Hi,” I respond, keeping my tone as pleasant as possible even though their gaping is annoying the living fuck out of me. What, have they forgotten what it’s like to look fully fucking clothed?

  
“Right, ladies. Queenie and I have business to attend to.”

  
I all but turn tail and flee when Negan guides me back into the office, shutting the door behind us.

  
Lowering myself onto the futon and finally taking the weight off my ankle is a relief. Negan seats himself in that big leather throne and leans the bat against the desk next to him, out of my sight. He scrutinizes me for a few second, all pleased with himself, before resting his elbows on the desk and grinning.

  
“So,” he says conversationally. “What do you think of my wives?”

  
I come within an inch of bursting into laughter. _Wives._ That’s the cutest term for hookers I think I’ve ever heard. Still, the game is on now, and the ball’s in my fucking court.

  
I quirk the corner of my mouth and tell the truest truth I can get away with. “I like their outfits.”

  
Negan’s wolfish smile widens. “ _Good_. I want you to wear something similar.”

  
Here it is. I mime confusion, blinking a little sporadically, all innocence. “Huh?”

  
“How do you feel about becoming wife number six?”

  
The decision was made for me the instant I understood the situation, but, still, I pretend to be slightly flustered. I wish I was a good enough actress to summon some kind of blush for good measure, but I guess I’ve gotta go with what I’ve got.

  
“Hmm,” I hum thoughtfully. “What’s in it for me, besides the pleasure of your company?”

  
Negan lets out a throaty chuckle. “Protection. Orgasms. And immunity from the points system.”

  
“Points system?”

  
“That’s how this place works. The people work, they earn points, they buy food and clothes and medicine and what fucking have you.”

  
“And why shouldn’t I just do that?” I sound a little too tart, so I sweeten up with an offhand “besides the orgasms.”

  
Thankfully, Negan stays sweet as well. “Well, for one thing, you’ll be earning for two. That’s not altogether easy.”

  
Oh, yeah. That.

  
“How old are you?” Negan asks.

  
“Twenty five,” I say truthfully.

  
“What did you do before all this?”

  
“I was a waitress.”

  
“Kenny live with you or the parents currently taking a dirt nap?”

  
“He lived with me. I raised him.”

  
“No shit. You were able to support a kid on a waitress’ salary?”

  
“I worked double shifts. What does this have to do with anything?”

 

Negan shrugs. “Just curious. But, yeah, I digress. Think you’re marriage material?”

  
And, just like that, reality hits like there’s a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. My teeth grind together so tightly that they give off a creaking sound like an old door. I have to gouge my freshly-clipped nails into my palm to stave off the sudden rage under Negan’s languid, low-lidded stare.

  
Half of me tells me to check my damn self and grab hold of the first good thing within reach in a long fucking time – but the other half of me, heavy with despair, is struggling not to drive my fist into the front panel of the desk. This isn’t fucking _fair_. I was out. I’d made it. I’d paid enough dues for me and three generations of ancestors and I was done with it. No more kneeling. No more taking shit from men who thought they were entitled to me solely because they were the proud fucking owners of an extra piece of meat between their legs. And now…

  
I’m right back where I started.

  
Either I’m a more tightly-shut book than I thought, or Negan simply doesn’t give enough of a flying fuck to outwardly react, because I can _feel_ just how pale I’m becoming. The blood that had roared in my head just moments ago seeps away and leaves me lightheaded. This might be something I can work with and work damn well, but it isn’t something I _want_.

  
_Haven’t felt like this much of a pussy in a while, huh?_ My brain tacks on unsympathetically.

  
Fuck me.

  
“Think about it,” Negan prompts, rapping his knuckles lightly against the polished oak. “This is a damn fucking good deal I’m offering you – but there are conditions.”

  
Oh, naturally.

  
“Like?”

  
“You stay with the other girls and play nice. You don’t leave the Sanctuary – shit, you don’t leave the fucking building without an escort. No drugs, no stealing, and don’t fucking cheat on me.”

  
Translation: I own your sorry ass.

  
“That it?” My voice is quiet, but steady and clear. At the question, Negan’s smile perks a little, crinkling his eyes.

  
“You do this, you’ll be one of my wives – i.e. … _married_. Marriage has its own conditions. This ain’t no free ride, your highness.”

  
This is exactly what I anticipated, and I already figured as much from the whole orgasms comment, but hearing him say it is a blow all the same. As long as I’m his, he can do what he likes to me. A surge of loathing towards my so-called fucking _savior_ swells in my middle, but when my ankle throbs again I remember just how unfathomably agonising it had been to press my gun into Kenny’s hand and tell him he had to leave me.

  
I can’t say no.

  
Negan is right. This is the best deal I could ever have wished for. What’s one more sale next to Kenny being provided for for the rest of his life? As long as this place is standing, and Negan standing with it, Kenny will never be hungry or alone or afraid. He’ll never want for anything. He can learn how to use different weapons safely, how to take care of himself. Shit, he can spend his days playing with other kids as long as he damn well pleases.

  
I can’t say no – but I can give my luck another nudge.

  
“I have conditions too.”

  
Negan’s face brightens, apparently delighted by my arrogance. “Do fucking share.”

  
“If I have to stay with the others, then my brother stays with me.”

  
“What, with you and the other girls?”

  
“That a no?” I ask lightly. Out of sight, my fingers twitch. Shit, maybe I should have started with something smaller. Or at least asked a little nicer. What am I going to do if he says no to this? The ball might be in my court, but he owns the fucking stadium.

  
Thankfully, Negan actually does begin to ponder rather than just flat-out refusing. His index finger ghosts thoughtfully against his beard, and he stays silent for longer than I like. Panic rising, I decide it’s about time I change tactics.

  
Negan is a lot of things, I can tell – but he does not strike me as a stupid man. How could a stupid man have acquired all this? He’s powerful, he’s got everything I need, and he’s offering it all to me on a silver fucking platter. I need to be real fucking careful. No powerful man relishes the idea of being manipulated by his own property. As I lean forward, I remind myself just how stand-offish I’ve been since I’ve met him. Subtlety is key here. Playing up my injury, I fake wincing as I shift my weight towards him, _accidentally_ pressing my arm against the side of my breast as I reach automatically towards the pain... _coincidentally_ giving him something more to look at.

  
I have to stifle a gleeful hiss as it actually works. I watch triumphantly as his eyes flicker to my chest and stay there. My new blouse being on the small side is suddenly a glorious advantage.

  
And here I thought I might be rusty. Pfft!

  
Remembering that there are matters at hand besides my cleavage, Negan clears his throat. “Look, I’m not saying no. I get it, okay? This is a new place, you don’t know us yet and neither does he. Shit, how many days of his life has he _not_ been around you?”

  
“Somewhere around none.”

  
Negan nods, sinking back into his seat and propping his elbows up on the arms, lacing his fingers together against his stomach as he twists the chair absentmindedly from side to side. “Figured as much. He looks at you like you raise the fucking sun.”

  
A bud of warmth pops open in my chest, and I feel some of my stony caution melting away in spite of me. The loathing is overshadowed by a rush of love for the mop-headed little shit that upended my entire life and saved it all in one go. I have to press my lips together to kill the dopey grin threatening my all-business expression.

  
“He’s a good kid,” I say sincerely.

  
“He’s a living kid. That takes a fucklot out there nowadays. You ever killed anyone?”

  
Given that I doubt his bat is prettied up with barbed wire to inspire terror in the brainless ghouls, I figure why not lay my cards on the table. “Yep.”

  
“How many?”

  
“Fuck, I don’t know, man. Lots.”

  
Negan peers at me through squinted eyes, still smiling away. “Been a long fucking while since I’ve met someone who lost track of their kill count.”

  
“Been a while since I stopped counting.”

  
“ _Ha_!” Negan chortles, and I compose an artful smile in return. This is good - an opening I can use.

  
“So, do I get to reap the rewards of my shitty counting skills?” I ask, resting my elbows on my crossed knees and once again reminding Negan of the benefits of giving me what I want. Yet again, his gaze shifts accordingly, and I begin to scent a victory. “Can he stay with me?”

  
Negan exhales kind of heavily, but to my intense relief, he nods. “Fuck it. Off the main room the girls have their own bedrooms. Pretty fucking titchy bedrooms, but still. There are only four. Lola and Courtney already share. I’ll toss Amber in with Louise. They’ll bitch for a while but they’ll fucking get over it. They knew it’d happen if I took another wife. Don’t think they expected a kid in the mix, but as long as he doesn’t fuck up all their pretty shit I don’t see it being a problem. But…I gotta fucking ask, are you sure you want him in there?”

  
My good mood begins to etch away immediately, my minute smile twitching right out of existence. “What?”

  
“You really want your five year old kid brother surrounded by practically naked women every fucking day? Including _you_? It ain’t exactly a kid-friendly environment, sweetheart.”

  
Deep down I know this is right. I’ve had staggeringly varying success with sheltering him from the grimier aspects of my life, and he’s seen far worse than the odd nip-slip, but still – a spade is a spade and a whore is a whore. Killing for him was easy to explain. It wasn’t a choice. This is. There is no kid-friendly version of _your sister’s a dirty slut who spreads her legs to get what she wants_. As he gets older he’s going to figure things out, but for now I want him to be a kid. I don’t want him to wake up at night to the sounds of Negan fucking me a few doors over.

  
Negan watches as I visibly deflate, but says nothing. I suppose I should be glad that he brought this up. Not only is it fucking _true_ , but I hope it says something in the fact that he didn’t let the prospect of peeling this blouse off me deter from keeping Kenny safe, even in a non-life-threatening way.

  
“I know,” I respond, after eons of pressing silence. “But you’re right – this is a good deal. I’m not seeing many fucking choices here.”

  
“This place is big,” Negan says, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “We’ve got a metric fuck-ton of people by today’s standards, but we’ve also got the room. I can give him his own bedroom. Shit, if you don’t want him to be alone, I can stick him in with some other kid. Maybe Caleb.”

  
I feel myself perking up at the thought. This is what I want for him – to lead as normal a life as possible. And yet there’s this great clawing _fear_ in me, as if every instinct in my body is rebelling at the thought of having him out of my sight after months of obsessively hovering over him. Hell, I’ve been away from him for the space of a fucking conversation and it’s like there’s an itching under my skin.

  
But maybe that’s just me. From the moment I knew he was coming it was like my entire life was jerked off one path and thrust onto another. I always thought all that maternal-instinct stuff was a crock of steaming bullshit until suddenly there was this shiny-new innocent life being dragged into the world, and I was responsible for it whether I damn well liked it or not. Parenting did not come naturally to me. Kenny was a difficult and sickly baby, and he screamed something fucking awful, through the night, every night. The fact that none of my neighbours tried to murder me is still one of the great mysteries of my life. Even now I can remember walking him around and around that shithole studio apartment, him screeching relentlessly in my ear, me in agony, torn between the mixture of misery and frustration and outright anger I felt at the injustice of such a burden, and the sense of duty and attachment I felt towards the tiny little guy I was only half related to. That was one of the worst periods of my life, which is truly saying something.  
I knew nothing about babies. Not one single little damn thing. My attempts were pathetic and I knew it. Fuck, I was going off parenting magazines I filched from news stands. I figured that was why he never stopped crying. I was doing something wrong. My instincts were way off back then. I should have known, really. That terrible, piercing scream, hoarse and broken but tireless – it wasn’t natural.

  
**5 Years Ago:**  
_It’s been six months exactly. Six months of crying, diapers, formula, diapers, puke stains, crying – the occasional moment off blissful clarity, usually during a brief silent period, where I stare down into his big, shining eyes and find myself tearing up with just how fiercely_ glad _I am for what I’ve done – usually followed immediately by crying and diapers._  
_I bounce the howling baby against my chest, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of tears, every inch of me stiff with stress. No fucking wonder my mother hated me so much. This is enough to drive someone out of their fucking gourd. Every night without fail for the past three weeks, the kid has squirmed, fussed and whimpered until he gets fed up with being good and begins bawling._

  
_“You’re not hungry,” I choke out, my voice thick and cracking. “You’re not wet. You’re clearly not fucking tired. What is the_ matter _with you?!”_

  
_This is my punishment, I swear. This is maddening. I’m surviving on the naps I take between double shifts at the diner and the rare hours the kid sleeps soundly. It’s torture. I can’t live like this for much longer._

  
_The baby sputters, hiccups, and then revs into full-throttle roar once again. I whimper pathetically. His downy curls brush against my neck as he twists in my grasp. How can something so soft and small be so_ impossible _? Cupping my hand against the back of his head, my shushing tapers off into a sob._

  
_The knock at my door startles me so much that I jolt the baby when I jump, which definitely does not help the situation. Sniffing quietly, I brush a single stray tear off my cheekbone and decide well, what the heck, maybe a screaming neighbour will drown out the sound of the screaming baby._

  
_Sniffing again, I pull the door open only to come face to face with my landlady, Rose – a woman in her sixties draped in a pink satin shawl, soft silver hair easily as long as mine, hanging over her shoulder in a messy plait. She’s a nice lady, no doubt. Extremely understanding, at least. My rent payment has been late three times, but she’s never complained. Still, understanding during daylight and understanding at four a.m. are two entirely different things, and as soon as I lay eyes on her I begin to grovel._

  
_“Hi, I’m so sorry, I know, he does this all the time, I’m sorry, I-I’m trying everything I can think of, he just-“_

  
_She holds up both hands to stop me. I shut up, breathing as if I’ve just been sprinting, heart hammering. I cannot afford to be kicked out of this place. It’s tiny and dingy. The only piece of furniture in the entire place is a ratty green sofa that is just death for my back any time I actually sleep on it. The shower runs cold all the time, but I’ve been afraid to complain because if this lady decides the kid and I are too much hassle then we are both utterly dicked._

  
_“Easy, darlin’,” she says, voice gentle in spite of the fact that we’ve clearly been keeping her up. “I just came over to see if there was anythin’ I could do. I used to be a midwife. Babies are kinda my specialty.”_

  
_I have to blink away a fresh wave of tears. Afraid to speak in case I start full-on sobbing, I nod jerkily and step aside to let her in._

  
_The place is a shitpit. There’s baby crap on every surface – clean clothes, dirty clothes, bottles, tubs of formula – not to mention all my junk too. Still, Rose doesn’t bat an eye. She simply shoves the stuff on the sofa to the side and sits down, gesturing for me to do the same. I go obediently, still lost for words._

  
_“May I?” She asks, motioning to the baby. I hand him over, only now realising how much my arms are aching._

  
_“Hi there, sweetness,” Rose croons, undeterred by his less-than-pleasant demeanour. Smiling, she turns to me. “What’s his name?”_

  
_Rather than blurting out the first thing that comes to mind and likely saying something stupid, I have to tell her that I haven’t named him yet. Again unbothered, Rose rocks him slowly._

  
_“What’s wrong with him?” I rasp. “It sounds like he’s being fucking tortured.”_

  
_Instead of answering my question, Rose runs an eye over my dishevelled appearance. “You look exhausted.”_

  
_“You’re not wrong.”_

  
_“He can feel that, y’know.”_

  
_“Huh?” I frown._

  
_Soft smile broadening, Rose gestures at him with a nod of her head. “Babies pick up on these things. He can feel how tense you are from a mile away. It’s makin’ him uneasy.”_

  
_I balk, horrified. “It’s my fault?” I whisper._

  
_Rose shakes her head sympathetically, and, by some kind of godly miracle, the crying becomes coughing, which becomes snuffling, which, finally, turns into silence._  
_“It ain’t your fault, darlin’, but you gotta relax some. You’ll drive him and you both right outta your minds.”_

  
_I stare at the baby, finally asleep – and my mind flashes to the pamphlet I have stashed on top of the refrigerator; the tiny crack in the glass that allows me to breathe just a little. An option._

  
_“I can’t,” I whisper brokenly._

  
_After a few minutes of silence where Rose rocks the baby and I watch him breathe, she carefully slides him back into my arms, smoothing her fingertips through his sparse curls. I watch them bounce into place again with an overwhelming sense of sorrow._

  
_I tried to do right by this kid. Tried so fucking hard. But I’m not cut out for this shit. Some people just aren’t. My mom – our mom – sure wasn’t. She got knocked up at fourteen and everything spiralled downwards from there. She hated me for existing and I hated her in return. But she can’t have always been that cruel, spiteful person that I stole this baby from. Something made her that way. Maybe it was me. Maybe after years of dealing with what I’m dealing with now, it turned her into someone else. She let having me ruin her life. Depended on her boyfriend, never tried to find any kind of job besides stripping and occasionally hooking. She turned to just about every drug and alcohol under the red-hot sun, and didn’t look at me with anything but hatred until that hatred simply became indifference. I remember how much that hurt even when I told myself I didn’t need her. I never want this little baby to see that look from me. Never._

  
_I took him away to save his life. Maybe now the best thing I can do for him is let him go._

  
_After staring numbly at the baby until my eyes shut, I wake up to find him tucked into the carseat he sleeps in, coughing quietly. Frowning, I drag my stiff, aching self upright. His tiny face is pinched at the brow, and there’s a wheezing sound to his breathing that I never noticed before. Just as I move to lift the seat onto the sofa, I spot a new stain on his bib. My frown deepens. Careful not to jostle him, I reach down and smooth my thumb over the dark blotches. My thumb comes away red._

 

 

I’ve got plenty of shitty memories, but that one tops. I’ll never forget being simply stunned, unable to process what I was seeing. I sat frozen for what felt like eons, thinking the same four words over and over and over.

  
_You wished him away._

  
I know a complex when I see one. I know I’m too clingy with Kenny, even today, years later. I mean, given the world we’ve just escaped, it’s understandable, but still. The next time I step out those gates I could die, and Kenny would be alone. We’re with people now, but, like Negan said, he doesn’t know them. I’m more than aware that he’s my entire world, but I forgot that that goes both ways. He’s dependent on me. And, I mean, fucking duh. He’s a little boy; he _should_ be dependent on me. But now, that’s dangerous. I could be gone in a hot second, and Kenny has no idea how to be alone.

  
Negan watches me frown to myself. Even thinking these thoughts that I know make sense, the fact that he’s out of sight is chewing me up. I wouldn’t get a damn bit of sleep wondering if he was content, if he was sleeping okay, if he was scared in this building full of strangers.

  
But…it’s not about me. Maybe it’s not even up to me.

  
“I’ll ask him,” I tell Negan.

  
He nods, grin returning. “Cool. So, what are your other conditions?”

  
“I want my gun back.”

  
Negan’s brow furrows. I manage to catch a sigh before it escapes my lips.

  
“My wives and the children are the most protected people in the entire fucking Sanctuary. You don’t need a gun.”

  
Fuck. Me. I am not compromising on this. No fucking way.

  
“Never said I wanted bullets. Shit, keep the fucking magazine if it keeps your panties dry. I just want my gun.”

  
A flicker of amusement crosses Negan’s face. “Why?”

  
Somehow I suspect  _because it’s fucking mine_ ain’t gonna cut it this time. “I committed my first murder with that gun,” I say lightly. “I’m very attached to it.”

  
Negan laughs heartily again, as if I was fucking joking. “Fuck,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re the most fun thing I’ve found in the forest in a fucking while, spitfire. Fine, fine. Keep your gun. But no bullets. Don’t want you getting jealous and popping off any of my wives.”

  
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” I reply dryly.

  
“Anything else?”

  
“Yeah,” I reply. I’m definitely pushing my luck now. Even if Negan comes off all friendly, I’m not stupid either. The people that are still alive are either killers, or hiding behind killers. I was a killer for Kenny. I’d be a damn fucking fool to think that Negan isn’t a killer for his people. And I know for a damn fact that once that line is crossed, everything else just…pales. Murder is the big one, right? I mean, it’s what all the shows were about.

  
Once my rude ass stops being entertaining, I’m going to have to fucking watch myself. Negan could boot me out without a second thought, and Kenny with me – out into the world again, no better off than before.

  
In spite of this I find myself pressing on as Negan listens with interest. This time, however, I manage to do it tactfully…

  
“Don’t ask for my real name again. I’ll either tell you to go fuck yourself, or lie.”

  
…Kind of.

  
Amazingly, Negan still doesn’t look pissed, but I find myself backtracking all the same, holding my hands up.

  
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” I tell him. “Really. But I mean it. Don’t ask. Please.”

  
“How come?”

  
This time, the “because it’s mine” just kinda slips out.

  
Negan’s lips stretch back over his teeth, and his eyes begin twinkling. I allow myself a small sigh.

  
I couldn’t have just… _lied_ , could I?

  
“It’s something stupid, isn’t it?”

  
I level him with a dull stare. “No.”

  
“I fuckin’ bet it is! C’mon, I won’t tell anyone.”

  
I’m a decent actor at the best of times, but right now I can’t seem to smooth my face out of its sarcastic setting. “Samantha.”

  
“Naaah, see, now you’re fuckin’ lying.”

  
“Told you I would.”

  
“You can’t honestly expect me to call you _Queenie_.”

  
“Why the fuck not?”

  
“It’s a fucking stupid name.”

  
“Never said it wasn’t.”

  
“C’ _mooon_ ,” he wheedles, looking for all the world like a kid about to start pouting in front of a candy store. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  
I have to tread carefully, I know. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I should have just told him a fake fucking name and been done with it, but, honestly, I expected him to just roll with the nickname. Everyone else has. I can’t say it’s never been said without a sneer or a snicker, and he’s not the first person to press the issue out of nothing more than being a nosy cunt, but he is the first person with the power to take my real name from me if he really, really wants it.

  
Jesus Christ. I’ve been at the Sanctuary less than twenty four fucking hours and now I’m trying to figure out how to lie to my fiancé.

  
I hate my entire fucking life.

  
“You get to keep me,” I say, low and even. “You get to fuck me. You get to snap your fingers and I’ll hit my knees just like everybody else. I will. I’ll even keep my mouth shut.”

  
“Kind of defeats the fucking purpose if you ask me.”

  
My eyes close briefly as I try to keep every haywire emotion fizzling around my brain in line long enough to get through this conversation.

  
“This is my last condition,” I murmur.

  
Negan tilts his head back, tapping his index finger against his lower lip as he chuckles. For a second I think he’s going to tell me to go fuck myself, but then he leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, nodding to himself.

  
“You’re gonna tell me one day. I fucking know it,” he grins.

  
I breathe out, relieved. “So we have a deal?”

  
“I guess we do,” he says teasingly. He reclines back again, dark eyes changing into a look that’s all too familiar.

  
I guess my wifely duties start now.

  
With a practiced coy smile, I rise out of my chair and slip around the side of the desk. Negan twirls the chair around until he’s facing me, smouldering gaze glittering in anticipation.

  
Might as well go for broke.

  
Resting my knee on the chair between his thighs, I reach out, ghosting my fingertips against the strands of hair just behind his left ear. The boyish look on his face sets into something else – something ripe with sizzling energy. His large, calloused hand comes around to cup my lower back, drawing me closer.

  
Threading my fingers through Negan’s hair, I follow his lead and lean into him, sealing the deal with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bullshitty backstories are my fkn strawberry jam and I'm not sorry. The f-word is my other jam so Negan is my absolute favourite and I fucking love writing about him.


	3. Seal The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T R I G G E R S!!!!! Holy shit, triggers. This chapter contains consent issues/dub-con.
> 
> Also, can I just put it out there how fucking amazed I am with all the positive feedback?? Holy shit, you guys. Almost 50 kudos for 2 chapters. I am so fucking flattered, damn.

  
_S_ _old my soul and signed my name in blood_  
_Stole it back now praying in the dark_  
_Fooled the devil, begging for a fight_  
_Count the dollars make your bet tonight…_

_Seal the deal and let's do it all again_

I brace myself after the kiss, fully expecting Negan to tell me to spend the night with him, but, instead, he tells me to go talk to my brother, take a look around and come back tomorrow morning.

“Oh,” he says, making me pause in the doorway of the office. The boyish look is back on his face, eyes dancing mischievously as he asks me “what’s your favourite colour?”

I blink and furrow my brow at the unexpected question. “Um. Black?”

“That’s a fucking shade.”

“Same fucking difference. Fine. Uh, red.”

Negan flashes me some more pearly whites, apparently pleased with my answer. “ _Perfect,_ ” he drawls, jaw cocked slightly to the side as he runs his eyes over me one last time. “See you in the morning, my liege.”

I can’t help but feel a genuine thrill of victory as I send him a glittering smile of my own. Once riding the elevator back to the ninth floor, I allow it to twist into a triumphant smirk.

This is good, good fucking shit! If I can keep myself in Negan’s good graces then this entire place is at my disposal. I’m not too terribly worried. I’m well versed in keeping men happy.

I’m grinning like a fool when I walk back into the day-care room. I’ve been gone for twenty minutes, tops, but as soon as I enter, Kenny’s head shoots up and he heaves a sigh, looking a little relieved. I feel much the same way. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Caleb and a little girl, that freaking mouse balanced on his bony little knee. He’s smoothing a fingertip gently over its head, beside himself with glee. I recall his heartbroken sobbing the first day I managed to catch and kill an animal to feed us and can’t help but smile at him, even though I’m gonna make him soap his damn hands until his fingers fall off.

Alma flits to my side seconds after the doors swing shut, dashes of pink high on her cheekbones. A quick glance at the other three adults finds them all staring at me.

Things are making more and more sense. Thinking back on it, it’s striking me as a tad bit weird that the head honcho of the entire compound found himself the time and patience to take Kenny and I on a tour. Looks like everyone else in the fucking place recognised his ulterior motive before I did.

“Everything go okay?” Alma asks, forcibly casual. Her eyes flicker excitedly behind her glasses, clearly trying to sniff out some scandal. I’m abruptly aware of the other three changing tactics, now pointedly avoiding looking in my direction save for the odd quick glance.

I’m already starting to miss having only a mute kid and lurchers for company.

 _Good graces,_ I remind myself when my eyes flash back to her a touch too temperamentally. _Behave_.

“Fine,” I reply, just as casually, making it my business to watch Kenny pet the mouse with unwavering enthusiasm until it hops from his knee to his shoe and then to the ground. Caleb scoops it into his hands, cupping them carefully.

I shake my head, bemused in spite of the lingering irritation. “How is that thing so fucking tame?”

“Oh, he’s just used to the attention by now!”

That or traumatised beyond fucking repair.

xXx

“So,” I begin as Kenny and I are strolling down to the kitchens in search of food. I figure being Negan’s new bride should cover me in terms of this point system thing. I glance down at Kenny, who’s examining every inch of this place with his eyes still a little wide. I can’t decide if he looks dumbfounded or just plain numb. “What do you think of this place?”

 _It’s cool,_ he signs. _I like it. Can I go to Caleb’s for a sleepover tonight?_

My body goes rigid for a second before I relax. Maybe this is good, for the both of us. Kenny can go have a normal night and I can go and have a distinctly less normal one. I figure getting the honeymoon kicked off early should earn me some good favour in my new husband’s eyes.

“Sure,” I reply. “But, uh…”

I pull lightly on his shoulder, bringing us to a stop on the stairs. The quizzical look on his face has a reassuring smile on mine by sheer reflex. I crouch down and sit on one of the steps, patting the space beside me.

“I was, uh, talking to Negan earlier,” I tell him, trying to sound sure but catching my voice wavering. I clear my throat as Kenny peers up at me suspiciously. “About the way this place works. Thing is, if we want to get food or clothes or just about anything else, we’ve got to, kind of…buy them, with points that we earn from working.”

Kenny’s eyes flicker as he processes this. _What kind of work do we have to do?_

The anxious flick of his eyes makes me feel a little better about what I’m telling him. “Well, see, that’s the thing. You’re too young to work-“

_Am not!_

That tugs a smile onto my face until Kenny deflates, looking suddenly crestfallen.

“What?” I ask.

Sad-eyed, he signs _so do we have to leave? If we can’t pay for stuff?_

“That’s the thing,” I sigh, exhaling a little shakily. “I worked out a…deal, with Negan.”

_What deal?_

“Um.” I pause, trying to ready myself for the inevitable onslaught of questions. “Well, he told me that he could let both of us have whatever we need, if I was his wife.”

Kenny blinks. _Wife? Like married wife?_

“Uh huh.”

 _Oh._ He stops, mulling it over. _So we get stuff for free?_

“Yep.”

To my relief, he starts to smile. _That was a good idea._

Hot damn, that was easy. Now for the next hurdle. “Sure is. He made that deal with a few other ladies too.”

 _That was nice of him_.

I burst into peals of laughter, climbing back to my feet and dusting my new jeans off. Kenny rises with a bounce to his step.

“Sure was,” I reply, grinning humorously.

Kenny reaches for my hand and begins tugging me down the stairs again. I can’t help but shake my head over how lovely it is that he’s still _innocent_. It would have been so easy for that to fade from him after all the horrible things he’s seen. His response to my news makes me feel a whole lot better about it, and his easy acceptance of this place is thawing my defences. So long as he’s happy and safe, this can work.

xXx

I have to admit, coolly informing people of my shiny new status and watching their faces fall is fucking priceless. It came in handy in the kitchens and again in the pantry, where I snapped up some fluid for my lighter and a carton of smokes. After taking Kenny over to Caleb’s room for a night of sugar and fuckery (I thanked Aysha profusely before I skedaddled), I moseyed outdoors for a cigarette and some urgent unwinding.

_Good God, I’m fucking married._

I light up and drag desperately on the cigarette, trying to ignore the squirming in my stomach. Trying to push away the implications of my little accord is like trying to outrun the dawn. I breathe out a gust of smoke and shudder, wrapping an arm around myself.

It’s almost a relief when the crunching of footsteps on gravel grows closer, until a woman rounds the corner and starts at the sight of me.

“Oh,” she exclaims, shaking her head awkwardly. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

It’s drizzling heavily, a sure sign that winter is fast approaching. It’s still warm during the day, but the evenings are getting colder and wetter – yet another good reason for us to have found this place.

With that thought I remind myself to be polite. “It’s okay,” I tell her, gesturing with the cigarette pinched between my fingers. “I’m just having a smoke.”

She smiles wryly and pulls a carton out from under her cardigan. “Me too.”

I offer her my lighter, looking her over as she takes it and sparks the flame. She’s a little taller than me. Maybe a few years older, too. She’s slim and tanned, with soft brown hair cut to her shoulders, beginning to drip from the rain. She’s hot, I muse, with her soft pink lips and big hazel eyes.

“I’m Sherry,” she says, handing my lighter back. Alarm bells begin to clang immediately.

“One of Negan’s wives?”

She blinks, realization dawning across her face. “Are…are you the new girl? Queenie, right?”

I inspect her face for any scorn or hostility, but she only looks curious. I nod.

She examines me for a few seconds before a small, somewhat awkward smile creeps over her face.  “Well, uh, welcome to the family,” she laughs quietly. “I guess.”

“Thanks,” I snort, shaking my head. She seems alright – more…normal than I expected, especially after my first glimpse of the inner workings of Negan’s glorified harem.

I think some of my doubt finds its way onto my face, because Sherry’s expression becomes sympathetic. “He’s good to us,” she tells me, trying to be reassuring. And, shit, maybe it might have worked if I hadn’t heard that line before.

“He ever hit you?” I ask bluntly. I’m not stupid, I know she’s Negan’s wife and this will probably get back to him, but I can’t go into this blind. I need to know _every_ rule of this game.

To her credit, Sherry looks genuinely startled. “No, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Never. I mean, Negan is a lot of things, but he’s not like that.”

I decide to take her word for it for the time being, given that _a lot of things_ is now steadily working its way up front and centre as my brand-new headache.

“He, uh, he doesn’t like this though,” she twitches her cigarette at me, smiling a little grimly this time. “So, uh…”

“I’ll spare us both the lecture.”

“Thanks,” she chuckles.

The silence that falls is companionable. It’s easier than I expected to just stand here with her. She seems more mellow than the three that I met – or, at the very least, a little more polite. After nothing but relentlessly staring eyes over the grand duration of my stay, it’s a relief to meet someone who’s more interested in their smoke. This one, I can live with – which is one more than I expected. Then, I remember one of Negan’s conditions and begin peering around, brow furrowing.

“Aren’t you, like, supposed to have a bodyguard or some shit?”

“Well, I was his first wife,” she shrugs a little self-consciously. “I get away with more sometimes.”

So, this is the one I need to keep on my side. Good to know.

“Don’t that cause trouble?” I grin. I can’t imagine the likes of those three gawking girls or this chick with high fucking pork standards being too impressed with Sherry’s special treatment.

“Nah,” she says, eyes crinkling a little. “They’re a nice group of girls, when they want to be.”

“Awesome…”

She laughs at my tone. “You might have to deal with some hazing for a while. Prepare to want to claw your own ears off. We were all talking earlier after Negan’s announcement, and they have a _lot_ of questions.”

I drag hard on my cigarette, feeling my headache take things a step up. Fan-fuck-me-tastic. I don’t actually think she could have said anything _worse_.

“Lovely,” I grit out.

Sherry can’t hide a grin at my reaction. “You’ll survive.”

“That’s questionable at this point.”

“Uh, there’s one more thing…”

“Yay.”

“He asked me to run an errand earlier. Um, let’s just say that I dropped off your…welcome package.”

Rather than asking what the fuck that means and having to suffer her telling me out loud, I crush my cigarette out under my boot and head back to my room.

There’s a gift bag sat innocently on the corner of one of the countertops. I approach it warily, fingers beginning to tremble. On closer inspection, I spot a piece of paper on a string, looped around one of the handles. I turn it over to find a drawing of a crown. Dropping it like it’s burned me, I decide to get it over with and slip my hand into the bag, freezing when it brushes against soft lace.

Quivering pathetically, I pull a blood red set of lingerie out into the open, thanking every possible godly entity that Kenny’s not here to find this. The lingerie itself isn’t half bad – a deep scarlet pair of lace panties and a matching bra that will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, cover absolutely nothing – and at the sight of them, my stomach twists and my ears begin to ring. Swaying with vertigo, I lean against the edge of the counter, all the anxiety I’d managed to keep a lid on suddenly crashing over me in one nauseating swoop.

I’ve been so busy congratulating myself on getting my way that it hasn’t really _hit_ me until now. This is real, it’s happening, and I can’t stop it.

I huddle into myself for a moment, head ducked so low that my chin touches my chest. Even if I spend tonight cowering in this dank little cell, he’s still expecting me tomorrow. It’s unavoidable.

The pounding in my head begins to subside, enough for me to breathe properly. Still, the terrible thoughts keep coming.

I haven’t had sex in three years.

I don’t like sex. I never have. It’s never anything but uncomfortable and dirty and occasionally painful. It was something I was more than happy to leave behind as soon as I could.

And now I’m right back at square fucking one.

I inhale shakily, fist clenched tightly around the lace. I don’t want to do this.

As they always do, my thoughts flash to Kenny and how his face crumpled when he thought we had to leave. I sigh in weary resignation, pinching the bridge of my nose hard between my weapon-calloused fingers. There’s no other choice. I have to keep Negan happy.

xXx

With the day drawing to a close, already dark from the rainclouds, I rap my knuckles against the door to Negan’s office.

Once I’d calmed down I started thinking strategically again. I’ve got five other women to compete with and an extra mouth to feed. Instead of wasting the night whimpering I decided to get the jump on the honeymoon in the hopes of keeping the novelty of my shiny-new-toy status. When Negan’s deep drawl invites me in, I smooth my face out and drag my lips into a small, pleasant smile.

“Hi,” I announce myself, relieved to find the room empty of anyone but Negan, sitting in the living room half of the space, some sort of documents fanned out on the coffee table. Sherry told me rather significantly that she and the other girls would be heading down to dinner in half an hour. I bided my time in the hopes of avoiding them and judging by the silence from behind the other door, it’s worked.

Negan glances up and a pleased smile crosses his face. “My liege,” he says teasingly. “To what do I owe the fucking pleasure?”

I cross the space between us with slow, measured steps, wrists crossed behind my back and an extra button undone on my blouse. Negan follows my movements, eyes dark.

“I got your gift,” I reply, my voice low and sultry. Negan’s eyes gleam. He reclines back slowly in his seat, a seductive smirk on his face. “Thought I’d come by and thank you in person.”

It’s a shitty line and I know it, but Negan doesn’t seem to care. His smouldering stare flickers over my body as if he’s already imagining the lingerie underneath. My arms stiffen for a moment, but I unclench. I don’t have the room to get defensive. This is what I wanted.

“Proactive,” Negan rumbles, practically purring. “I fucking _like_ that.”

He gestures for me to come closer. Obediently, I slide onto the sofa beside him, trying to maintain my cool. Even sitting, he towers over me, but, caught up in my strategy, I don’t feel intimidated. I arrange myself prettily, crossing my legs and propping my elbow up on the back of the sofa, leaning my head into my hand. It helps to be able to fiddle with my hair, curling it around my fingers, comforted by the warm weight of it. I find myself tugging on a strand when I blink my eyes upwards, instantly pinned down by Negan’s heated stare. Again, I stiffen a little, confidence wavering, fighting the urge to shrink away from him. Abruptly annoyed that I’m being such a fucking baby about it, I straighten my back instead and throw him a smirk.

Negan leans closer unconsciously. I manage to hold my ground. “You talk to your brother?”

I nod, feeling hot and itchy. Still, I carefully maintain the kittenish set of my eyes, rolling with it as best I can. “He’s cool with it. As long as he’s happy, I’m happy.”

Negan is clearly not one to beat around the bush. With a quirk of his lips, he reaches out and touches his curved fingers under my chin.

“Good,” he murmurs lightly, keeping my eyes locked on his. My heart begins skipping more and more rapidly. This is it. No more fucking around. The game begins and it is god damn go-time. Negan brushes his fingertips just under my chin, ghosting lightly enough to tickle. I shiver, and watch as his eyes glint. “I want you to be happy.”

That makes two of us, bro. 

I let him guide me into a kiss – just a deliberate brush of lips at first. In spite of my chronic nerves, my steel stomach kicks into gear like muscle memory. It becomes easy to lean into him and deepen the kiss. His large hand slides over my hip and cups it, the warm and heavy weight on my body a little unnerving. Determined to keep my brain on my side, I focus on the kissing. This is easy. Slow and smooth. I realise with a jolt of humor that my husband is trying to seduce me. I end up giggling against his lips, but he only pulls me closer, smiling himself. We’re angled a bit strangely, having been sitting side by side on the sofa, but he situates me against his front with my legs crossed under me. I can tell it’s a practiced move by the way I have to lean into his chest, fingers clutched into his t-shirt for support. He has to dip his head low to kiss me, but it works. I suck on his lower lip teasingly, tilting my head just slightly to deepen the angle. His beard bristles tickle my face. Negan slides his hands around to smooth over my lower back, touching my tattooed skin where the blouse has risen up. Feeling his rough fingertips brush deliberately against my spine makes me shiver involuntarily. Negan’s teeth clamp down on my lower lip just as he drags the edge of his fingernail over my skin, following the waistband of my low-slung jeans.

When my lips part, Negan takes the opportunity to intensify the kiss – a slow, sensual stroke of his tongue against mine before he seizes me by the hips again and lifts me into his lap.

I wind my arms around his neck and play along, allowing him to coax me into twisting my tongue around his. I sink further into his lap as I plaster my front to his, dragging my nails across the side of his neck until a rumbling sound comes from deep within his chest.

It gets easier to let him touch me – to engage him rather than just sit then pliantly as he runs his hands over me; up my back, around my waist and down my stomach until he’s able to hook his index finger just under the button of my jeans, enough to graze the lace low on my pelvis. My heart starts pounding, but he’s just teasing. He squeezes my hips before sliding his hands over my thighs, spread wide across his lap.

He breaks the kiss to lower his mouth to my throat. I push my hips against his when he latches onto my skin, teething and tonguing at it until it’s tender and tingling. I hum obediently and dig my nails into the back of his neck, hard enough to excite him. I shift my hips again and feel his hard cock push against me insistently.

When Negan grips my upper arms and lifts me back abruptly, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are black with lust and, in spite of myself, a fresh twinge of fear tightens my belly.

“Welcome to the Sanctuary,” Negan growls, low and husky. “I’m going to fuck your fucking brains out.”

He saves me from scrambling for a response by suddenly shifting his weight and rising off the sofa with me still in his arms. My brain shorts out and I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders hard as I clutch them for dear life. I tighten my legs around his waist, focusing on keeping myself up as he grips my thighs and holds me against him, walking purposefully towards the door of the harem.

He manages to open the door and keep his grasp on me at the same time. I have a brief, gut-clenching notion of him stripping me down and fucking me on one of the girls’ sofas only to have them come back and discover us, but Negan strides through the room to the other side, where there’s another door that I didn’t spot before.

This new room is dark, save for sparse shafts of moonlight coming through the windows. Accustomed after several months outside having to learn to adjust my eyes to the dark, I manage to make out a bedroom.

My mouth runs dry.

Oh, fuck.

As my brain is hurtling, Negan deposits me onto a bed. I bounce on the mattress as he pulls back until our only contact is my boots brushing against his shins. I’m able to make him out as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and lifts his white t-shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested.

Scrambling back into action, I fumble with my shirt buttons, fingers reassuringly steady as I pop them one by one, Negan’s eyes boring into me in the dim light. I almost snort at the relief of tugging it off my shoulders.

“Oh, no no,” Negan drawls, making me freeze. Shit. Did I do something wrong? He tsk-tsk’s, and I feel his thumb glide over my collarbone before he pulls away again. “This just will not fucking do.”

He snatches something off his nightstand and I hear a small _snick-whoomph_ before a flame bursts to life, throwing light and shadow across his face. His eyes rake over me, now wearing nothing but the flimsy bra and my jeans. Smirk returning, he lights a trio of candles on the nightstand and puts the match out with a wave of his wrist.

I watch him through my lashes as he turns to me, eyeing me hungrily.

 _This is it_ , I think, struggling to keep my breathing in check and reality at bay. _It’s showtime_.

My brain starts whirling faster, that muscle memory kicking in again. This is the part where I see what I’m in for and determine just how much control I have over the situation. This ordeal will either be awful, or slightly less than awful. It’s up to me.

I reach up and catch his hand as he reaches for me, stilling him. A test. My gut twists automatically. I try to prepare myself for any number of possible reactions, breathing deeply. I can make this work. I can.

“What’s the matter?” Negan asks. He doesn’t sound annoyed, only confused. I chance a coy smile, pulling myself upright until I’m standing right in his personal space.

“I want to do something first.”

Negan catches on immediately, the confusion on his face melting into a sensuous smirk. “That fucking so?”

Touching my hand to his waist, I turn us and wrap my fingers around his belt buckle.

This is going well. He’s letting me do the work at my pace. It’s a relief to say the very least. I have to help myself as much as possible. Pulling his belt open, I pop the button on his jeans with one finger, easing some of the strain over the swell of his cock. He watches me with an unremitting stare. I play up to the attention, sliding the zipper down tantalizingly slow.

“You little fucking tease,” Negan breathes.

Deciding not to push my luck this time, I let his pants drop and make quick work of his underwear, leaving him naked and freeing his stiff cock.

Negan toes off his boots and kicks his pants aside as I drag my fingernail down the trail of dark hair just under his bellybutton, causing his stomach to hitch under my touch. I remove my hand just as my fingertip brushes the base of his cock.

He sits on the edge of the bed when I guide him down, eyes hooded and burning, cock throbbing in anticipation. I keep eye contact as I sink to my knees, glad to have another opportunity to prep.

It always helps to have them slicked up first – easier for me to take the intrusion. Wrapping a hand around the base of Negan’s cock and squeezing until he grunts, I lower myself enough to tap the tip of him against my tongue.

“Little. Fucking. _Tease_ ,” Negan grits out, combing his fingers through my hair.

I smirk at him with every damn last little bit of tease I’ve got, before dipping the point of my tongue into  the bead of precum welling at the tip and then lowering my mouth down around him, taking him into my throat in one pass.

Negan’s hand tightens in my hair until it twinges at my scalp, but I keep my cool as he gasps “ _fuck!_ ” and groans out the name he’s so fond of poking fun at, leaving me feeling a little smug in spite of my current position.  

I hollow my cheeks around him and suck hard, drawing him out again before taking him back in, making him moan deeply. I’m able to take him in my throat again, and again, occasionally stopping to wrap a light fist around him and draw patterns along the underside with the tip of my tongue. He squirms when I tease him, keeping his hand knotted in my hair.

“Fucking Jesus _fuck_ ,” he pants when I swallow around him, hips twitching when I bury my nose in the dark thatch of hair at the base of his dick. “Fuck yeah, you fuckin’ take it sweetheart, take it all fuckin’ _in_ for me.”

I hum around him and his fingers clutch at my hair, his teeth gritting tight.

“Je- _sus,”_ he growls, breathing hard when I pick up the pace, pushing the raw ache in my throat to the back of my mind. “ _Oh_ , fuck the fucking hell out of it. Suck my cock baby, that’s fucking _right_. Christ almighty, you’re a fucking pro, darlin’. _Damn_.”

I entertain the thought of finishing him off like this and retreating again – but I steel myself against the idea. It’s now or never, and I think I’d get a lot more sleep if I just got this over with. With that resolution, I pull my lips off his cock with a wet _pop_ , leaving him shiny with saliva, just like I wanted. Pleased with myself, I give him one last kitten lick for good measure before he hoists me up and all but tosses me into the centre of the bed.

I let my eyes slip closed as Negan pulls my jeans down my legs and tugs my boots off, leaving me in the lingerie.

“Now, _that_ …” Negan grazes his knuckles over my bare stomach, clicking his tongue. “Is a pretty fucking picture.”

I reach back to unhook my own bra and let him pull it from my body, ready as I’ll ever be to get this done. Negan cups my breasts in his hands, squeezing them once, twice, before circling his thumbs over my nipples. I go along with it, sighing and arching my back, pressing them further into his palms. Taking them between his knuckles, he twists them, causing a bolt to flash from the centre of my chest to low in my stomach. My nipples harden automatically, obedient to his touch. I squirm and arch against the soft, fresh sheets, mewling quietly.

Negan’s torn the panties down over my thighs before I can inhale another breath, leaving me bare. I swallow deeply, throat still sore, fighting off the flicker of panic sparking to life again as Negan lifts himself over me, heavy cock dragging over my thigh, and settles himself between my legs.

_Fuck._

I’m moving before I can even think about it, adrenaline kicking my brain up to triple speed. Negan takes the hint and moves with me, allowing me to manoeuvre us until he’s on his back and I’m straddling his hips.

To my immense relief, his mouth quirks into a lustful smile. “You wanna ride, baby?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He chuckles darkly, stroking his thumbs over my hipbones.

“Far fucking be it from me to deny a lady’s wishes,” he purrs, arching his back as he settles under me. I’m so immensely _relieved_ that he’s letting me take the reins, the anxiety lurking just below the surface of my self-control is momentarily forgotten.

“Take your throne, my feisty little queen,” Negan grins – and with that, there’s no more stalling. No more over-analysing. There’s nothing to do but take his still-wet cock in my hand and lift myself over him, breathe out steadily as I feel him breach me and sink down until my ass touches his hips.

Negan groans, tensing up all over as I writhe in his lap, half-afraid to sit still. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but the stretch is strained and uncomfortable. It’s not like any other pain or discomfort – it’s intrusive and personal and it makes me fucking squirm.

Negan’s hips twitch, spurring me into action and ending my frazzled reverie. Afraid that he’ll grow impatient and decide to take the wheel, I angle my hips and grind them slowly up and down, testing the waters.

He hisses and grunts. I let myself whine, wincing at the extra stretch that comes from the change in angle. Still, I persist while the going’s good, raising and pushing my hips until I’ve established a rhythm.

The discomfort is more mental than physical after a few minutes, and I manage to free up some headspace to start strategizing again once I’ve got Negan swearing good and proper. It’s one thing to work through this on autopilot, to fuck him mechanically until he’s done with me. It’s another thing to take advantage of the situation. Five gorgeous women, he keeps here, at his disposal, whenever he wants them. I’d wager none of them have demanded what I have from our husband. They don’t have kids to provide for – I do. Sherry gets away with more than the others because Negan values her more. I can’t just grit my teeth and ride this out. Sherry was nice – fine, that’s great. There are four more that I have to deal with. Four more that could turn around and decide I’m too stand-offish, too sharp, too much of a bitch, and ask Negan to turf me out. Four good fucks versus one good fuck – that math is not on my side. I can’t just be a good fuck. I have to be the _best_ fuck.

I lean back and hold onto his thighs, leaning my weight onto him as I roll and bounce my hips, squeezing him tighter on the downward thrust. One of Negan’s hands leaves my waist to tweak my nipple so I cup my hand around his, holding it there with a heated, imploring gaze.

“Holy fucking Christ,” Negan groans, kneading my breast. “That’s fuckin’ _it_ , sweetheart, fucking fuck me!”

I obey, speeding up, churning my hips and breathing soft moans and gasps – subtle, always subtle – keeping my legs clamped tight around his waist. After one particularly rough thrust, I lean forward, pressing my hands against his chest and switching up my position slightly, scratching my nails against his chest as I push back hard against his pelvis. Negan returns the favour by dragging his nails down my spine, digging in hard enough to make me arch my back. Then, in one quick move, he wraps an arm around my waist to hold me steady and the next thing I know, I’m on my back.

Feeling his weight press down on me has me frozen immediately, shocked. Thankfully, he’s too caught up to really pay attention to me beyond dropping kisses to my throat and shoulders, giving me time to unscramble my frantic thoughts.

He starts thrusting again, and my whimper is real. For a minute I just lie there uselessly, clutching onto his hips with my thighs and trembling fingers, trying to keep my breathing steady. It’s only when his lips find mine in a bruising kiss that I manage to shake off some of the panic and gather my wits.

I kiss him back, combing my fingertips through his hair, satisfied with the low groan that comes from deep in his throat. I can’t fold now. I’m doing well. Just a few more hurdles and I can crawl back to my dingy little cell with a big victory under my belt.

I start moving to meet his thrusts in spite of the fact that he’s using more strength now, leaving me on the precipice of pain. I hide my grimace in his shoulder, gritting my teeth against the growing discomfort, determined to soldier through.

And it does end. Negan jerks out of me so suddenly that I squeak in shock before my entire body slumps in relief, sinking into the sheets, damp with sweat. Negan pumps his hand roughly over his cock before he comes, groaning obscenely, and I feel hot splashes stripe over the apex of my thigh.

 _It’s over,_ I think. Even my fucking thoughts are breathless. _I did it._

I cheer weakly inside my head as Negan all but collapses next to me, chest rising and dropping quickly.

“Fuckin’…holy… _fuck_ ,” he mumbles tiredly. I give a low _mmm_ of agreement, watching him out of the corner of my eye, catching his eyelids droop tiredly. In minutes he’ll be asleep.

In spite of the sickening twinge of pain deep between my thighs, I’m okay. At the very least, the pride and the win are surpassing the dissolving panic and softening the anxious set of my limbs. I let myself lie there for a moment, the disgust and shame at bay for now. I can do this. I can live with these conditions. Giving Negan what he wants is far from a cakewalk, but it’s doable.

“You’re a fuckin’ _pro_ , spitfire…” Negan drawls, rolling his head around to watch me. I smile and stretch languidly.

“I know,” I grin, allowing myself a little bit of smugness. Negan gives a low, throaty laugh, reaching out to pat and squeeze my thigh like he’s praising a dog.

“Where’s your brother tonight?”

There go those alarm bells again – but I can’t lie, so I tell him he’s at Aysha’s.

“Sleep here,” he tells me, sitting up and stretching his arms out before shucking the covers down and crawling inside.

 _Fuck_ , I think bitingly, but I follow submissively all the same.

He gives me my space, to my relief. I curl up on my stomach, covers tucked around my chin, tired but sharp all at once. Negan stretches out next to me, out for the count not five minutes later. Finally, I can breathe again.

I find myself dozing accidentally and jolt awake, alarmed. I don’t want to sleep here – I want to wait out the hours and bail at first light. Kenny’s my perfect excuse. I’ve gotta get gone and shower before I pick him up, get him sorted and drop him off at daycare.

In spite of my plans, I haven’t slept properly in days. My eyes prick and ache and eventually shut against my will, leaving me in the dark with my new…whatever he is.

**5 Years Ago:**

_It’s bitterly cold, and the heavy clouds overhead are threatening rain. My feet are blistered and sore from all the blind stumbling around I’ve been doing._

_“_ Our tests have come back positive…”

“We want to operate immediately…”

“This is a costly procedure…”

_I smack my fist against my forehead as hard as I can, trying to drown out the doctor’s sympathetic, droning voice. I’d just nodded along dumbly, and when he told me he wanted to start slicing and dicing my baby brother, I’d given the okay then too, even though I’ve got no way to pay for it and no health insurance of any kind._

_They offered to let me hold him once more before they wheeled him away, but I balked, too afraid to do anything more than touch his little fingers and let them curl around mine. He’s so tiny – and I left him with them, let them take him away to the operating theatre, all alone._

_My stomach hasn’t stopped churning. My head hasn’t stopped pounding. My feet are really killing. When they told me the operation was going to take a while, I bailed, unable to cope with the idea of huddling under harsh fluorescent lights, drinking stale-tasting coffee, kicking my heels and wondering every second if my brother is still breathing._

_I wonder if they’ll have to ram tubes down his throat while they’re gouging the cancer out of it?  If they’ll even be able with him being so little? My own throat aches in sympathy, the taste of bile welling in my mouth again._

_They said the kid is lucky – that they caught it early and everything might just be fine. I know they were just trying to keep my head from exploding, but damn, what a shower of patronizing fuckers. I don’t need their coddling. I don’t need their sympathetic smiles or their professionally-attuned voices. I need them to make that fucking kid as healthy as any fucking kid can be and I need them to be fucking quick about it._

_I imagine I’ll have to skip town or something when all is said and done, what with me being absolutely broke and all. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Dark memories of packing up and running in the middle of the night have me swaying as I walk the street._

_This is my fault. I killed so I could steal him away and now he’s dying like some twisted fucking joke – one more fuck you from the universe to significantly shorten my tether. Hell, maybe it’s karma. Maybe this is what I deserve…but not him. He’s just a baby, why is he being punished? What warped form of justice is this?_

_Then again, maybe that is my punishment. Maybe this is the good lord’s way of shoving me back into my place – one huge reality check to remind me just how utterly powerless I am._

_I don’t notice the car pulling up beside me until the breaks squeak and a window rolls down. Inside is a man. My automatic once-over tells me he’s in his early fifties. There are broad shoulders and a soft gut beneath his check shirt. He’s got grey stubble and brown-grey hair combed to one side. Grey-blue eyes bore into me in a manner that makes me understand immediately what’s happening._

_“Fuck off,” I grunt at him, not breaking pace. To my irritation, the car keeps rolling along beside me._

_“How much?”_

_“Fuck_ off _?” I suggest sarcastically, clutching my handbag closer to my front, where my pistol is locked and loaded, ready._

_It makes me feel better to have it even though I vowed I wouldn’t use it again unless the baby was in danger._

“ _C’mon, I can afford it.” Out of the corner of my eye, kept resolutely focused on the sidewalk beneath my feet, I spot him waving several green bills to show me he’s not fucking around._

 _I almost turn and snap_ I look like a fucking hooker to you, hoss? _before realising just how I do look. I’m still wearing my little waitress’ uniform that I wore to work yesterday. I didn’t have time to change after I picked the baby up from the best babysitter very little money can afford, and then after I woke up from passing out I snatched up my handbag and the baby and grabbed a cab straight to the hospital. Shit, I haven’t even had time to shower. I thought about going home to wait out the surgery, but as soon as I thought of walking through my front door, I also thought of walking back out of it – across the street to the liquor store conveniently located for breakdown-induced relapses._

_Even now, the thought is tempting. How mind-numbingly beautiful would it be to knock back a bottle of whiskey and-_

_I shudder, still under the dogged scrutiny of this pervy stranger. I might be clean now but the temptation is always there. Always offering me another option when the baby screams or my boss chews me out. But I won’t. I_ won’t _. I made a promise to that little baby before he was born and as long as he’s still breathing then I don’t plan on breaking it. Even if a machine is doing the breathing for him._

_In spite of my company, my brain is whirling again. The kid’s going to need meds after this. Antibiotics and whatnot. Aftercare. How am I supposed to provide all that on the run? Filching a prescription pad from the hospital is an option, but that only goes so far…_

_“Two hundred for everything. C’mon, sweetheart, I don’t bite.”_

_I pause, cold all over. I’d be a damn dirty liar if I didn’t admit that the thought had occurred to me. I saw mom do it when shit got bad; when her boyfriend fucked off for a few weeks for whatever reason and she needed more drugs. She’d leave in towering heels, more fresh-faced than I ever saw her, and return with a purse full of cash and lipstick faded and smudged over her chin._

_Honestly, the only reason I haven’t done more than consider it is because of how scared I am. Scared of the pain. Scared of the groping hands. The claustrophobia._

_I feel exposed under his gaze. My uniform skirt is cut to my thighs and flimsy. I didn’t even grab a coat before I bolted this morning. I have to admit, I can see why he mistook me for a hooker even though I still have enough pride to feel slightly offended. Even though…I’m considering it._

_The sharp punch of shame isn’t enough to stop the thoughts this time. I need to come up with a lot of cash as quickly as I can. Double shifts at a shitty diner aren’t going to cover my ass – not when I’ve still gotta pay for stuff like rent and food. How can I say no to a life raft when my head’s already so far below water?_

_My heart is fucking pounding. Beneath the logic there are still panic-stricken thoughts of_ no, can’t, don’t want to _that are a bitch to tamp down on. Just the notion of sliding into that car has me dizzy with fear._

_But I’ve got no choice._

_I nod wordlessly before I can stop myself. The passenger door opens._

_All my energy goes into keeping myself from hyperventilating when I slip inside and the door shuts, leaving me with the musty scent of old cigarettes and cologne._

_Everything kind of blurs for a while, like my mind is hibernating to keep me sane. The next thing I know, he’s pulling the car into the shadows and popping his seatbelt off. Numbly, I do the same with mine. I only really snap out of the haze when he pats his lap and I clamber wordlessly over the stick shift, settling myself astride his thick thighs._

_His lips are wet and rubbery and it’s really hard to keep from cringing. I follow his lead, skin crawling, until he slides his beefy hand up my skirt and roughly cups my crotch._

_A spike of raw panic almost sends me bolting. I have to grab fistfuls of his shirt to keep from throwing myself out the door. When he rifles through his glove compartment for a box of condoms, I can’t stop myself from shaking any more. He either passes it off as anticipation or just doesn’t care. He looks at me expectantly until I start fumbling with his pants, hands shaking so badly that it takes several tries before I can fish into his jeans and pull his hard dick out into the open._

_Shadows blur the edge of my vision and my head swims. I have to bite down hard on my lip to keep myself from passing out. I think of my little brother in the hospital, of doing what needs to be done, and manage to stay conscious when he yanks my underwear to the side and rams himself inside._

_From then on out, it’s a haze of sharp stings and throbbing aches, of poorly concealed sobs and half-formed prayers whispered inside my lurching head. I don’t even notice him finishing until he lifts me off him and I collapse back into the passenger seat._

_With quivering fingers, I reach for the sticky, chafed, pried-open flesh between my legs before recoiling, fisting my hand into my skirt instead. Every inch of my skin is clammy with sweat._

_“Shit, kid, you alright?”_

_I nod reflexively, sniffing as I try to straighten myself out. My hands fumble uselessly, like a baby trying to grasp things for the first time. A spark of frustration clenches my fists. I notice for the first time that my shirt of open, bra shoved up under my armpits. I do my best to right them as the man watches me, expression unreadable._

_“You’re white as a sheet, kid,” he says, sounding a little guilty._ Good _, I think vindictively. “You sure you’re okay?”_

_I sniff again, straightening up, pushing my dark hair behind my ears to try and kick my brain back into gear._

_“Fine,” I reply, dry-mouthed._

_His mouth presses into a straight line, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel. “You ain’t really a hooker, are you?”_

_I’m able to compose a pointed glare. “Not until you’ve paid me.”_

_I think he really does feel bad. He pushes two bills into my limp hand, and, after a moment of hesitation, a third._

_I stare at the three hundred bucks clutched weakly in my hand. I really did it. I really sold myself after all the years of telling myself I’d never resort to that, throwing scornful stares at my mom as she went out to support herself the only way she could._

_I can practically hear her fucking cackle._

_“Can I drop you off somewhere?”_

_I tell him to drive me back where he found me and climb out of the car with all the grace of a newborn deer, stinking of sex and three hundred bucks richer._

_It was easy to judge my mom when I was sat under a roof I didn’t pay for with food I didn’t earn. Shit, it’s still easy to judge her. She did it for drugs and booze. I’m doing it for the baby she barely bothered to glance at after I first wrapped him up._

_I think of him wrapped up again, alone and in pain. I think of the pamphlet lingering in my apartment. I think of him growing up with strangers because I couldn’t provide for him. I think of him wondering about where he really comes from, why he wasn’t worth keeping around._

_I’d let every man in a hundred mile radius fuck me to keep that from happening._

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be chock-full of Negan. I just love writing with OCs and even though I know a lot of people hhhhaaaate them I just couldn't resist. Also, the "author loves stupid nicknames" tag is all too real. Don't worry, though, it actually has precedence in the story. I promise.


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